UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

iielen  Cal dwell 


m 


THE 


G  A  RL  AND; 


BEING  A  SELECTION  OF 


INTERESTING  STORIES. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  PETER  PARLEY 


NEW  YORK : 

PUBLISHED  BY  NAF1S  &  CORNISH, 

278   PEARL    STREET. 


PS 

CONTENTS. 


*l  THE    GARLAND. 

« 

^  Page. 

^      The  Stranger's  Nephew,                         -  9 

V.       The  Swiss  Boy's  Farewell,    -        -        .  -          47 

Stanzas— F.  G.  Jewett,                           -  49 

An  Omitted  Pickwick  Paper,  51 

The  Madona— A  Translated  Sketch,  58 

The  Dreamer,                                          -  G3 

The  Miser,            •;' '     -                -  64 

y     Ireland  and  the  Irish,  first  part,     -  65 

^J    Ireland  and  the  Irish,  second  part,  112 

*SL    To  Marion,    ......  ISO 

V»    Blue  Stockings,      ......        191 

Ambition,      .......        200 

The  Love  of  Nature,     ....  233 

I've  Nailed  My  Colors  to  the  Mast. 


THE    STRANGER'S    NEPHEW; 

OR,    THE 

\ 

HUMORS  OF   GRUNWIESEL.* 

* 

BY     THE     TRANSLATOR     OF     "  05DINE." 
I. 

IN  the  southern  part  of  Germany  lies  the  town 
of  Griinwiesel.  This  is  a  small  market  town,  as 
are  most  of  the  towns  in  that  region.  In  the 
centre  of  it  you  see  a  square  with  a  fountain,  on 
the  north  side  of  which  stands  a  little  old  court- 

*  These  Humors  of  Grtlnwiesel  are  a  translation  of  W. 
Hauff's  amusing  extravaganza,  "  Der  Affe  als  Mensch." 
Though  occasioually  touching  upon  the  borders  of  improbabili 
ty,  they  are  a  good-humored  satire,  cutting  and  comic,  —  the 
palpable  hits  of  Hamlet;  andj  welcome  as  they  may  be  to 
lovers  of  laughter  and  glee,  they  are  but  too  applicable,  we 
fear,  to  many  a  large  as  well  as  small  town,  beside  the  German 
Grunwicscl. —  Trans. 


1  0  THE  STUANGEU'S  NEPHEW. 

lioii.-e :  and  around  it  rise  the  dwellings  of  the 
j u  lice  of  the  peace  and  the  more  respectable 
shopkeepers,  while  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants 
live  in  a  few  narrow  streets.  Nothing  under 
herivcu  here  remains  unknown ;  the  most  private 

its  are  viewed  as  public  property.  So  v 
docs  every  one  know  what  is  every  where  going 
forward,  that,  when  the  principal  clergyman,  the 
burgomaster,  or  the  physician,  has  a  rare  dish  on 
hi-  table,  ihe  whole  town  never  fail  to  get  scent 
of  the  news  at  dinner.  When,  in  the  afternoon, 
the  females  meet  to  pay  visits,  as  they  are  called, 
and  while  drinking  strong  coffee  and  eating 
sweet  cake,  they  share  with  one  another  the 
important  gossip  they  have  been  able  to  pick  up 
or  make;  and  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matt- 1 
is,  that  no  doubt  the  chief  niini-tc  r  lias  1 
roost  unchristianly  dabbling  in  the  lottery,  and 
drawing  one  of  the  highest  prizes ;  or  that  the 
buMpm  aster  has  been  shrewd  enough  to  butter 
id  on  both  sides;  or  that  the  doctor  has 

'cet< •'!  IIKIM)  a  piece  of  gold  from  the  apothe 
cary,  as  a  bribe  for  his  letting  him  make  his  pre 
scriptions  dear.  You  may  easily  imagine,  kind 
reader,  how  vexatious  it  must  be  for  such  a  \\<  !!- 
ordered  town  as  Orunwiesel,  to  have  a  man 
come  there  of  whom  no  one  knows  whence  he 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         11 


comes,  what  his  business  is,  and  how  he  is  to 
live. 

Now,  as  fate  and  mischief  would  have  it,  just 
such  a  man  one  day  arrived  there.  The  burgo 
master,  it  is  true,  had  examined  his  pass,  and 
remarked  at  one  of  the  doctor's  coffee-parties, 
that  it  was  all  perfectly  correct,  so  far  as  di 
rected  from  Berlin  to  Griinwiesel,  but  that  not  a 
word  was  said  of  his  journey  before,  or  of  his  for 
mer  place  of  abode  —  circumstances  that  looked 
not  a  little  mysterious.  As  the  burgomaster  was 
a  man  of  the  greatest  consideration  in  town, 
there  was  nothing  wonderful  in  the  stranger's 
being  regarded  as  a  suspicious  person  from  the 
very  day  of  his  arrival.  Besides,  his  conduct 
afterward  was  far  from  removing  this  early  pre 
judice.  With  a  few  pieces  of  gold,  the  stranger 
hired  him .  a  whole  house,  which  had  for  some 
time  stood  unoccupied ;  ordered  quite  a  wagon- 
load  of  strange  furniture,  such  as  stoves,  shov 
els,  tongs,  pots,  kettles,  and  other  utensils  for 
kitchen  use,  to  be  brought;  and  from  that  hour 
lived  all  alone,  and  for  himself  alone.  Yes,  he 
even  cooked  his  own  food;  and  not  a  soul  en 
tered  his  house  but  an  old  man  of  Griinwiesel, 
whom  he  employed  to  buy  bread,  meat,  and  vege 
tables;  still  more,  this  man  was  permitted  to 


1  -  THE  STRANGER'S  XEPHEW. 

come  no  farther  than  the  ground  floor,  \vhcre 
the  stran^rr  received  his  purchases  himself. 

The  commotion  thus  raised  in  this  small 
town  was  excessive.  The  man  never  amused 
himself,  like  others,  in  playing  nine-pins  in  the 
afternoon ;  never  went  to  the  tavern  in  the  even 
ing  to  smoke  his  pipe  and  talk  over  the  news. 
In  vain  did  the  burgomaster,  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  the  doctor,  and  the  principal  minister, 
one  after  another,  invite  him  to  dine  or  take 
coffee  ;  he  invariably  excused  himself.  In  con 
sequence  of  this  unsocial  spirit,  some  considered 
him  as  mad,  others  suspected  him  to  be  a  Jew, 
while  a  third  party  stoutly  maintained  that  he 
was  a  conjurer  or  wizard.  Thus  passed  eight 
or  ten  years,  and  still  the  town  called  him  "  THE 


STRANGER   GENTLEMAN." 


II. 

One  afternoon,  about  this  time,  some  people 

hap|Hned  to  0.1,1. •  m;.>  t  >\MI  \MI!I  a  inOH  <-f  ..in- 
foreign  parts.  It  was  one  of  those 
strolling  caravans,  which  have  a  camel  that 
1. n>  • '.  .  a  bear  that  dance* ,  with  dogs  and  mon 
keys  that  look' so  comical  in  boys'  clothes,  and 
play  all  sorts  of  diverting  tn<  ks  These  wan 
derers  commonly  march  through  a  town,  stop  in 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         13 

the  cross  streets  and  squares,  make  a  miserable 
discord  of  music  with  a  small  drum  and  fife,  set 
their  troop  to  dancing  and  leaping,  and  then 
collect  what  money  they  can  at  the  doors  of  the 
houses.  Now,  the  most  attractive  animal  which 
these  strollers  had  to  exhibit  on  their  present 
visit,  was  a  remarkable  ourang-outang,  almost 
as  large  as  a  man,  that  walked  on  two  legs,  and 
knew  how  to  perform  a  great  variety  of  ingeni 
ous  tricks.  These  grotesque  comedians,  of  the 
dog  and  monkey  school,  came  also  before  the 
house  of  the  stranger ;  and  at  first,  when  the 
drum  and  fife  struck  up  their  din,  he  appeared, 
through  his  dim,  unwashed  windows,  to  be 
exceedingly  annoyed;  but  soon  after,  to  the 
surprise  of  every  body,  he  looked  out  of  a  win 
dow  quite  amused,  and  laughed  heartily  at  the 
feats  of  the  ourang-outang ;  nay,  he  threw  out 
so  large  a  bit  of  silver  for  the  entertainment  he 
had  had,  that  it  became  the  talk  of  the  whole 
town. 

Next  morning,  the  menagerie  moved  forward 
to  another  town  ;  the  camel  had  to  carry  a  num 
ber  of  baskets,  in  which  the  dogs  and  monkeys 
were  stowed  away  very  commodiously,  while  the 
beast-trainer  and  the  baboon  followed  the  camel. 
But  not  many  hours  had  passed,  after  their  leav- 


14  THE  STRANGER'.-  M;IIU;\V. 

ing  tl*e  town,  ulu-u  the  .-tnm^iT  .-cut  to  the  post- 
house,  and,  to  the  extreme  astonishment  of  the 
post-master,  requested  him  to  order  a  carriage 
and  extra  post-horses  to  be  got  ready  for  him  ; 
and  with  these  he  set  off  in  the  same  direction 
in  which  the  animals  had  gone.  The  town's 
people  were  all  in  a  pheese  of  vexation,  because 
they  couldn't  learn  where  he  was  journeying. 

It  was  already  night,  when  the  stranger  re 
turned  in  tiic  carriage,  and  drove  up  to  the  town 
gate  ;  but  another  person  was  sitting  by  his  side, 
who  had  pressed  his  hat  hard  down  upon  his 
forehead,  and  bound  a  silk  handkerchief  over  his 
mouth  and  ears.  The  recorder,  or  clerk  of  tin- 
gate,  considered  it  his  duty  to  address  the  new 
stranger,  and  ask  him  for  his  pass;  but  he  re 
plied  in  a  gruff  and  grumbling  voice,  while  he 
muttered  something  in  a  language  wholly  unin 
telligible. 

lie  is  my  nephew,"  said  the  stranger  to  the 
clerk,  in  a  friendly  tone,  as  he  slipped  some 
pieces  of  silver  into  his  band  —  "  he  is  my  nephew, 
and  he  understands  but  few  words  of  German  as 
yet ;  be  has  hardly  been  able,  on  account  of  our 
stopping  him  here,  to  keep  himself  from  cursing 
us  to  our  teeth." 

v    iy,  if  iu-  is  a  nephew  of  yours,"  replied 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         15 

the  recorder,  "  he  may  be  admitted  without  a 
pass.  He  will  doubtless  live  with  you." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  and  he  will 
probably  remain  here  for  a  long  time." 

The  clerk  of  the  gate  making  no  further 
objection,  the  stranger  and  his  nephew  were 
admitted.  The  burgomaster  and  the  whole  town 
were  much  dissatisfied  with  the  clerk.  He  had 
been  so  fortunate,  however,  as  to  catch  two  or 
three  words  of  the  nephew's  speech ;  and  from 
these  he  could  easily  ascertain  of  what  country 
both  he  and  his  uncle  were  natives.  Now,  the 
recorder  was  sure  that  they  were  neither  French 
nor  Italian,  but  that  they  had  much  of  the  broad 
brogue  of  English  ;  and  if  he  was  not  mistaken, 
the  young  gentleman  had  blurted  out  the  words, 
"  G —  D ! "  once  or  twice. 

In  this  manner  the  clerk  got  himself  out  of  his 
difficulty,  and  helped  the  young  man  to  a  name ; 
for  nothing  was  now  spoken  of  throughout  the 
town  but  the  young  Englishman  ;  and  those  two 
words  were  considered  his  name.* 

*  See  the  amusing  note  to  Pye's  Translation  of  Aristotle's 
POETIC,  where  he  alludes  to  this  whimsical  mode  of  detecting 

an  Englishman.  —  Trans. 


1 G  THE  STRANGER'S  NKI-HEW. 

III. 

But  the  young  Englishman  was  not  to  be  soon 
at  nine-pins,  or  in  the  beer-cellar,  any  more  than 
his  uncle,  although  in  another  way  he  gave  the 
people  business  enough  to  do.  It  often  hap 
pened,  for  instance,  that  such  fearful  screams 
and  sounds  of  alarm  proceeded  from  the  stran 
ger's  house,  (which  was  usually  M>  Mill,)  that 
crowds  of  people  stopped  before  it  and  looked 
up.  The  yo  :rli.shman,  wearing  a  red 

frock  and  green  pantaloons,  was  seen,  with 
Itn-tling  hair  and  a  frightful  look,  running  in 
credibly  swift  from  room  to  room,  and  from 
window  to  window;  tho  old  stranger  pursuing 
him  in  a  red  night-gown,  a  hunting-whip  in  his 
hand,  and  not  seldom  failing  with  his  random 
strokes  to  hit  him  ;  but  it  sometimes  seemed  to 
tin-  c -rou-1  in  the  street  below,  that  he  must  have 
given  the  youth  a  genuine  switching ;  for  t 
caught  the  keen  cutting  of  the  whip,  and  the 
consequent  shrieks  of  suffering.  The  females 
of  the  town  took  so  lively  an  mtrrv-t  in  this  bar 
barous  treatment  of  the  young  foreigner,  that 
they  finally  moved  the  burgomaster  to  e\.im,nc 
the  matter  lie  wrote  the  stranger  a  billet,  in 
which  he  reproved  him  in  severe  terms  fur  his 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         17 

cruel  usage  of  his  nephew,  and  threatened,  if 
there  should  be  a  repetition  of  such  scenes,  to 
take  the  young  gentleman  under  his  own  especial 
protection. 

But  who  could  be  more  astonished  than  the 
burgomaster,  when,  for  the  first  time  in  ten  years, 
he  saw  the  stranger  enter  his  room  ?  The  old 
gentleman  made  an  apology  for  his  conduct  by 
mentioning  the  strict  command  of  the  young 
man's  parents,  who  had  committed  him  to  his 
care  to  be  educated ;  he  was  quite  a  discreet  and 
clever  lad,  he  said,  except  in  his  extreme  slow 
ness  in  learning  languages ;  it  was  his  strong 
desire,  that  his  nephew  should  gain  some  fluency 
in  speaking  German,  in  order  that  he  might  take 
the  liberty  of  introducing  him  to  the  society  of 
Griinwiesel ;  and  so  great  was  his  difficulty,  his 
obstinate  stupidity  rather,  in  mastering  the  lan 
guage,  that  he  judged  he  could  do  nothing  better 
for  him,  than  give  him  now  and  then  the  whole 
some  discipline  of  the  whip. 

The  burgomaster  was  perfectly  satisfied  with 
this  communication :  he  advised  the  old  man  to 
be  more  gentle  in  his  discipline,  and  told  his 
friends  at  the  alehouse  in  the  evening,  that  he 
had  seldom  met  with  a  man  so  agreeable  and 
well-informed  as  the  stranger.  "  It  is  a  thousand 
2 


1  8  THE  STEANGER  S  NEPHEW. 

pities,"  he  added,  "  that  he  comes  among  us  so 
rarely  ;  I  suspect,  however,  that  the  moment  his 
nephew  has  made  some  proficiency  in  (icrnuu), 
ho  will  visit  our  circle  more  frequently." 

IV. 

By  an  incident  slight  as  this  was,  the  opinion 
of  the  town  altogether  changed.  The  stranger 
was  esteemed  a  judicious  man  ;  all  desired  to  have 
a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  him  ;  and, 
when  a  horrible  outcry  was  occasionally  heard  in 
his  solitary  dwelling,  it  was  viewed  only  as  the 
natural  coarse  of  things.  "  He  is  giving  his 
nephew  a  lesson ;  he  is  teaching  him  to  speak 
German ! "  observed  the*  inhabitants  of  Grun- 
wiesel,  and  then,  quite  satisfied,  passed  along. 

ID  about  three  months  the  lessons  in  (u-nnan 
seemed  to  be  finished ;  for  the  old  gentleman  now 
went  a  step  farther  in  giving  his  pupil  accom 
plishments.  There  \ras  a  lame  old  Frenchman 
living  in  the  town,  who  taught  young  people 
dancing  and  the  graces.  The  sti  t  for 

this  man,  and  told  him  it  was  his  wish  tint  lie 
should  give  his  nephew  some  instruction  in 
dancing.  He  informed  him  that  be  was  in  gen- 
•  -nil  quite  docile,  but  that,  so  far  as  dancing  was 
concerned,  he  was  rather  self-willed.  He  had, 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         19 

not  long  before,  he  said,  taken  lessons  of  another 
master ;  and  yet,  after  all  his  drilling,  he  could 
not  well  be  admitted  into  company ;  but  still  his 
nephew  looked  upon  himself  as  a  first-rate  dan 
cer,  although  his  dancing  bore  no  resemblance 
to  waltz  or  gallop,  to  the  Scotch  fling  or  the 
French  pigeon's-wing.  He  moreover  promised 
to  give  him  a  dollar  an  hour  ;  and  the  dancing- 
master  was  glad  to  undertake  the  instruction  of 
this  wild  and  wilful  pupil. 

Nothing  under  heaven  could  more  exceed  all 
power  of  imagination,  as  the  Frenchman  swore 
with  a  great  oath,  than  this  same  hour  of  dancing. 
The  nephew,  rather  a  tall  and  slender  youth, 
though  he  had  legs  remarkably  short,  appeared 
beautifully  dressed  in  a  red  frock,  wide  green 
pantaloons,  and  glazed  gloves.  He  spoke  little, 
and  with  a  foreign  accent,  showing  himself,  at 
first,  quite  well  behaved  and  clever ;  but  on  a 
sudden,  he  often  made  the  most  whimsical 
springs,  danced  round  and  round  the  room  with 
the  wildness  of  frenzy,  and  then  went  through 
with  such  furious  cross-capers,  as  well  nigh  de 
prived  the  dancing-master  both  of  hearing  and 
sight.  When  he  tried  to  put  the  madcap  right, 
he  snatched  off  his  elegant  dancing-pumps,  threw 
them  at  the  Frenchman's  head,  and  scampered 


20  T"E  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

round  the  room  on  all  fours.  Roused  by  this 
tumult,  the  old  gentleman  rushed  from  his  room, 
in  a  wide  scarlet  night-gown,  a  gold- 
paper  cap  on  his  head,  and  with  his  hunting- 
whip  switched  and  switched  the  back  of  \\:< 
nephew.  His  nephew  then  set  up  a  terrible 
outcry,  sprang  upon  a  table  and  high  chest  of 
drawers,  and  even  leapt  upon  the  large  cross- 
piece  of  the  window-frame,  where  he  clung  in 
terror,  showing  his  white  teeth,  and  wildly  sput 
tering  his  strange,  foreign  gibberish.  But  the 
old  man,  in  his  scarlet  night-gown,  so  far  from 
lieing  disconcerted  at  all  this,  seized  him  by  the 
leg,  pulled  him  down,  and  lashed  him  severely. 
He  then  grasped  his  neckcloth,  and,  by  means 
of  a  buckle,  drew  it  tighter ;  on  which  the  hare 
brained  stripling  showed  more  gentleness  and 
propriety  of  manners,  and  the  hour  of  dancing 
went  on  without  interruption. 

But  when  the  dancing-master  had  advanced 
his  pupil  so  far,  that  he  was  able  to  add  music  to 
tin  business  of  the  hour,  the  nephew  seemed  to 
experience  a  favorable  change.  A  town  nm-i- 
i  was  hired,  who  was  directed  to  sit  on  a 
table  in  the  hall  of  the  lonely  house.  The  dan 
cing-master  then  stood  up  as  a  lady,  while  the  old 
gentleman  put  on  him  a  woman's  silk  gown  and 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.        21 

an  East  India  shawl.  The  nephew  bowed  to  his 
partner,  and  now  began  to  dance  and  waltz  with 
him ;  but  so  furious  and  indefatigable  a  dancer 
was  he,  that  he  never  permitted  the  master  to 
escape  from  his  long  arms.  Groan  and  cry  out, 
"  Man  Dicu  !  Mon  Dim  I  "  as  manfully  as  he 
might,  still,  in  spite  of  all  his  groaning,  and  Mon 
Dieuing,  he  was  forced  to  continue  dancing, 
until  he  sunk  down  overpowered  with  fatigue, 
or  the  arm  of  the  musician  became  stiff  with 
fiddling.  These  hours  of  teaching  brought  the 
dancing-master  almost  to  his  last  figure  and  riga- 
doon  ;  but  the  dollar,  which  was  every  time  punc 
tually  paid  him,  and  the  good  wine,  which  the 
old  gentleman  was  liberal  in  providing,  made 
him  return  unfailing  as  the  hour,  although  the 
day  before  he  had  firmly  resolved  never  to  enter 
the  house  again. 

The  people  of  Griinwiesel,  however,  viewed 
this  affair  in  a  quite  different  light  from  what  the 
Frenchman  did.  They  were  persuaded  that  the 
young  man  had  many  fine  qualities  to  recom 
mend  him  in  society ;  and  the  ladies  of  the  town, 
in  the  great  dearth  of  gentlemen,  rejoiced  in  the 
hope  of  having  so  expert  a  dancer  at  the  balls  of 
the  coming  winter. 


THE  STRAN  : PHEW. 

V. 

One  morning,  when  the  servant-maids  came 
homo  fruin  the  market,  they  told  their  mistresses 
a  wonderful  piece  of  news.  They  had  seen  a 
magnificent  carriage,  with  lamps  and  glass  win 
dows,  standing  before  the  solitary  house  :  it  had 
beautiful  horses  harnessed  to  it,  and  a  driver  in 
a  rich  livery  was  holding  the  reins,  and  cracking 
his  whip.  The  door  of  the  lone  house  was  then 
opened,  and  two  gentlemen,  in  splendid  apparel, 
walked  out,  of  whom  one  was  the  old  stranger, 
and  the  other  was  probably  the  young  gentleman 
who  found  it  so  hard  to  learn  German,  and  who 
danced  so  wildly.  They  both  stepped  into  the 
carriage;  an  attendant  sprang  up  behind ;  and  the 
carriage,  as  it  appeared,  drove  directly  up  to  the 
house  of  the  burgomaster. 

When  the  women  received  this  account  from 
their  domestics,  they  instantly  tore  off  their  kitch 
en  aprons  and  soiled  caps,  and  pat  themselves 
in  elegant  trim.  "  There  is  nothing  more  cer 
tain,"  said  they  to  their  families,  —  while  all 
wtre  scampering  up  and  down  to  prepare  a  heir 
parlors,  which  were  not  seldom  used  for 
many  other  purposes,  — "  nothing  can  be  more 
certain,  than  that  the  stranger  now  means  to 


THE  STRANGER'S    NEPHEW.         23 

mtroduce  his  nephew  into  the  world.  The  old 
dotard  has  not  been  civil  enough  these  ten  years 
to  set  foot  within  our  doors ;  but  we  forgive  him 
QOW  for  the  sake  of  his  nephew,  who  will  be  a 
charming  man."  Thus  they  spoke,  and  told 
their  sons  and  daughters  to  be  very  polite,  when 
the  strangers  came,  to  keep  themselves  erect, 
and  pay  more  than  common  attention  to  their 
pronunciation. 

The  shrewd  females  of  the  town  had  not  been 
mistaken  in  their  conjecture ;  for  the  old  gentle 
man  went  round  with  his  nephew  to  call  upon 
the  families  in  course,  and  to  recommend  both 
himself  and  him  to  their  favor. 

The  townspeople  were  every  where  much 
taken  with  the  two  strangers,  and  regretted  that 
they  had  not  made  their  delightful  acquaintance 
more  early.  The  old  gentleman  discovered 
himself  to  be  a  worthy  and  intelligent  man,  who 
slightly  smiled  indeed  at  whatever  was  said,  so 
that  you  could  not  be  certain  whether  he  were 
serious  or  sarcastic ;  but  he  spoke  of  the 
weather,  the  country,  the  pleasures  of  summer 
at  the  beer-cellar  by  the  mountain,  with  such 
judicious  thoughtfulness,  that  every  one  was  en 
chanted  with  him. 

But  the  nephew  !    How  was  it  with  him  ?    He 


ii-l  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

charmed  every  body,  gained  golden  opinions 
from  the  whole  town ;  in  a  word,  he  won  all 
heart:-  to  himself.  Whatever,  indeed,  you  might 
say  of  his  person,  you  could  not  call  his  face 
beautiful ;  the  lower  part,  especially  the  jaws, 
was  too  prominent,  and  his  complexion  was 
rather  too  brown ;  besides,  he  made  all  sorts  of 
odd  grimaces,  shut  his  eyes,  and  kept  showing 
ins  teeth ;  but  still  all  found  the  cut  of  his  fea 
tures  remarkably  interesting.  Nothing  could  be 
more  flexible  or  full  of  motion  than  his  figure. 
It  is  true,  the  garments  he  wore  seemed  to  have 
been  thrown  upon  him ;  but  however  unfashion 
able  might  be  their  hang,  they  were  all  admira 
bly  becoming  in  him.  He  jumped  round  the  room 
with  incredible  activity,  threw  himself  upon  a  M»f;i 
here  and  upon  an  arm-chair  there,  stretching  his 
tags  out  at  full  length ;  but  what  in  another  young 
man  would  have  been  viewed  as  in  the  highest 
degree  vulgar  and  indecorous,  passed  with  the 
nephew  for  the  noble  daring  of  genius.  "  He  is 
an  Englishman,"  was  the  common  voice,  "  and  it 
is  all  natural  in  them :  an  Englishman  may  fling 
himself  upon  a  sofa,  and  fall  asleep,  while  ten  la 
dies  arc  obliged  to  stand  up  round  him  without  a 
scat;  so  you  must  take  nothing  amiss  in  an 
Englishman."  To  the  old  gentleman,  his  uncle, 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         25 

he  was  very  submissive  ;  for  when  he  began  skip 
ping  about  the  apartment,  or,  as  he  was  fond  of 
doing,  drew  his  feet  up  into  his  chair,  one  stern 
glance  from  his  uncle's  eye  was  enough  to  bring 
him  to  order.  And  how  could  one  take  his  wild 
humors  ill,  when  the  uncle  never  failed  saying 
to  the  lady  of  the  house,  "  My  nephew,  dear 
madam,  is  as  yet  rather  rude  and  unpolished; 
but  I  promise  myself  much  advantage  from  a 
society  that  will  form  and  fashion  him  to  pro 
priety  ;  and  therefore  I  earnestly  commend  him 
to  your  kindness !  " 

VL 

\ 

In  this  manner  was  the  nephew  introduced 
into  the  world;  and  all  Griinwiesel  spoke  of 
nothing  on  this  and  the  following  days  but  of 
an  event  so  arresting.  The  old  gentleman  gave 
up  his  recluse  habits ;  he  seemed  to  have  en 
tirely  changed  his  modes  of  thinking  and  living. 
In  the  afternoon,  he  went  out  with  his  nephew  to 
the  rock-cellar  by  the  mountain,  where  the  more 
respectable  gentlemen  of  Griinwiesel  loved  to 
drink  beer  and  play  nine-pins.  The  nephew 
showed  himself  a  perfect  master  of  the  game,  for 
he  never  knocked  down  less  than  five  or  six : 
now  and  then,  indeed,  a  wild  spirit  would  come 


26  THE  STRANGERS  NEPHEW. 

over  him;  throwing  the  bowl,  he  would  rush 
after  it,  and  raise  a  mad  shout  of  triumph  among 
the  falling  pins;  or  sometimes,  when  he  had 
knocked  them  all  down,  he  would  in  a  moment 
be  standing  on  his  beautifully  frizzled  head,  and 
kicking  his  legs  up  in  the  air ;  or,  if  a  coach  were 
passing  by,  he  would  spring  upon  the  top  of  it, 
ere  any  one  was  aware  of  his  intention,  make 
grimaces  to  those  below,  ride  on  a  few  rods,  and 
thru  Imp  down  and  join  the  players  again. 

Whenever  such  scenes  took  place,  the  old 
gentleman  used  to  beg  the  burgomaster  and  tin 
other  men  to  excuse  the  ill-bred  vagaries  of  his 
nephew;  but  they  only  laughed,  and  ascribed 
them  all  to  his  youth,  observing  that,  at  his  time 
of  life,  they  were  themselves  just  as  lightfooted 
as  he,  and  that  they  loved  the  frolicsome  young 
whirligig,  as  they  called  him,  all  the  better. 

There  were  times,  however,  when  they  were 
equally  offended  themselves;  and  still  they  never 
ventured  to  open  their  lips,  because  the  young 
Englishman  was  universally  allowed  to  be  the 
glass  of  fashion,  and  the  perfection  of  taste  ami 
good  sense.  The  old  gentleman  was  wont  to 
take  his  nephew  in  the  evening  to  a  public  house 
in  the  town,  called  the  Golden  Stag.  Now,  al 
though  the  nephew  was  aa  yet  quite  a  youth,  he 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.        27 

was  fond  of  aping  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  aged  :  he  would  gravely  seat  himself  with  a 
glass  of  wine  before  him,  mount  a  monstrous 
pair  of  spectacles,  draw  forth  a  huge  pipe,  light 
it,  and  puff  away  with  the  bravest  of  them. 
When  conversation  arose  concerning  the  news, 
whether  of  war  or  peace,  the  doctor  would 
broach  this  opinion,  and  the  burgomaster  that, 
while  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  would  be  greatly 
astonished  at  the  depth  of  their  political  knowl 
edge  ;  but  the  whim  would  suddenly  enter  the 
nephew's  brain  to  advance  an  opinion  altogether 
different.  He  would  raise  his  hand,  from  which 
he  never  took  off  his  glove,  strike  the  table  with 
violence,  and,  fastening  his  eyes  upon  the  bur 
gomaster  and  doctor,  make  them  clearly  under 
stand,  that  they  knew  nothing  at  all  of  the  matter ; 
that  he  had  received  quite  another  version  of  the 
affair,  and  possessed  a  more  profound  insight. 
He  then,  in  shockingly  broken  German,  tried  to 
make  some  exposition  of  his  views,  which  all,  to 
the  extreme  vexation  of  the  burgomaster,  ap 
plauded  as  truly  admirable;  for,  as  an  English 
man,  he  must  naturally  be  much  better  informed. 
The  burgomaster  and  doctor,  not  daring  to 
give  vent  to  their  wrath,  sat  down  to  a  game  of 
chess,  when  the  nephew  immediately  sidled  up 


28  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPIFEW 

to  them,  looked  over  the  burgomaster's  shoulder 
with  his  huge  spectacles,  found  fault  with  this 
move  or  that,  and,  pointing,  told  the  doctor  In- 
must  put  his  piece  here  or  there,  so  that  in  their 
hearts  they  were  both  of  them  almost  maddened 
with  rage.  The  burgomaster  was  so  excited, 
that,  with  a  ricw  to  giving  him  his  match,  he 
challenged  him  to  play  with  him,  for  he  es- 
<-d  himself  a  second  Philidor;  but  the  old 
'••man  buckled  his  nephew's  neckcloth  tight 
er,  on  which  he  became  more  mannerly,  and  sat 
down  to  play  with  the  burgomaster. 

It  had  been  customary  to  play  cards  at  Griin- 
wiesel  almost  every  evening,  and  for  a  half 
penny  a  game ;  but  the  nephew  now  deemed  this 
a  miserable  pittance,  putting  down  cr<>\\ n-pi.-o- 
and  ducats,  and  boasting  that  no  one  played  so 
well  as  he,  though  he  usually  appear  <1  the  of 
fended  gentlemen  by  losing  large  sums  to  them. 
They  made  this  no  matter  of  conscience,  not  in 
the  least  scrupling  to  take  his  money  from  him ; 
"  for  he  is  an  Englishman,  and  as  rich  as  Crov 
9us,"  said  they,  as  they  pocketed  his  ducats. 

VII. 

Thus  the  nephew  of  the  stranger  gentleman 
became  in  a  short  time  a  person  of  no  small 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.        29 

estimation,  both  in  the  town  and  its  vicinity. 
There  were  none  who  were  able  to  recollect 
having  heard  of  such  a  youth  in  Griinwiesel 
within  the  memory  of  man ;  and  all  said  he  was 
the  most  remarkable  personage  they  had  ever 
seen  themselves.  You  could  not  say  that  he 
had  ever  learnt  the  least  thing  in  the  world, 
except,  perhaps,  dancing.  Latin  and  Greek,  as 
the  familiar  phrase  runs,  were  nothing  but  Greek 
to  him.  A  party  once  met  at  the  burgomaster's 
house,  and  played  the  social  game  in  which 
every  one  is  required  to  write  something,  when 
it  was  discovered  that  he  couldn't  so  much  as 
write  his  name.  In  geography  he  made  the 
most  shameful  blunders  ;  for  it  was  no  uncom 
mon  thing  with  him  to  put  a  German  city  in 
France,  or  a  Danish  one  in  Poland.  He  had 
read  nothing,  studied  nothing,  and  the  chief 
clergyman  often  shook  his  head  thoughtfully  at 
the  young  man's  gross  ignorance ;  but  at  the 
same  time  you  found  whatever  he  did  or  said 
was  exquisite ;  for  he  was  so  impudent,  that  he 
always  claimed  to  be  in  the  right,  and  the  upshot 
of  the  matter  seemed  to  be,  "  I  understand  all 
that  much  better  than  you  !  " 


30  THE  STRANGER  S  NEPHEW 


VIII. 

Amid  these  pastimes  and  pleasures  came  the 
season  of  winter ;  and  now  the  nephew  appeared 
in  still  greater  glory.  Every  party  seemed  to 
drag  on  wearily,  where  he  was  not  present : 
whenever  a  man  of  sense  made  any  remark, 
there  was  a  general  yawi^but  when  the  nephew 
nth-red  even  the  most  stupid  stuff  in  a  wretched 
jargon  of  German,  the  company  were  all  car. 
It  was  now  discovered,  that  this  admirable  y<> 
man  was  also  a  poet ;  for  no  evening  could  well 
pan  away,  in  which  he  did  not  draw  forth  n 
manuscript  from  his  pocket,  and,  in  a  mumbling 
voice,  read  the  company  a  number  of  sonnets. 
There  were  some  persons,  indeed,  who  described 
many  of  these  poems  as  senseless  trash,  and  that 
they  were  BO  unfortunate  as  to  have  read  the  rest 
of  them  somewhere  else;  but  the  nephew  suf 
fered  nothing  to  disconcert  him  ;  he  kept  mum 
bling  and  mumbling,  ami  then,  in  the  same  tone, 
seemed  to  be  descanting  on  the  beauties  of  his 
verse ;  and  every  time  he  did  so,  followed  a 
thunder  of  applause. 

But  the  balls  of  Grunwiescl, —  these  were  his 
grand  triumph.  No  one  could  dance  more  nim 
bly  or  more  indcfatigably  than  be ;  none  made 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         31 

such  bold  and  elegant  leaps  as  he.  Besides,  his 
uncle  always  dressed  him  in  the  most  splendid 
apparel,  cut  in  the  newest  and  most  fashionable 
style ;  and  although  his  garments,  do  what  you 
would,  never  set  very  gracefully,  still  all  acknowl 
edged  that  they  were  infinitely  becoming  to  him. 
The  gentlemen,  indeed,  were  somewhat  dis 
pleased  with  his  dancing,  on  account  of  his  novel 
mode  of  procedure.  Heretofore,  the  burgo 
master  had  invariably  opened  the  ball  in  person, 
while  the  more  respectable  of  the  young  men  had 
the  privilege  of  arranging  the  rest  of  the  dances; 
but,  since  the  appearance  of  the  foreign  young 
gentleman,  this  courtesy  had  been  abolished  as 
obsolete.  Without  so  much  as  saying,  "  If  you 
please,"  he  took  the  nearest  lady  by  the  hand, 
stationed  himself  with  her  at  the  head  of  the 
set,  and  acted  in  every  respect  as  if  he  were 

fl 

master  of  the  ceremonies  and  king  of  the  ball. 
But,  in  consequence  of  the  ladies  highly  ap 
proving  this  new  etiquette,  the  gentlemen  durst 
make  no  objection  to  it ;  and  the  nephew  contin 
ued  to  enjoy  his  self-assumed  dignity. 

These  balls  appeared  to  give  the  old  gentle 
man  the  greatest  delight ;  he  never  turned  his 
eyes  from  his  nephew ;  kept  smiling  to  himself; 
and,  when  all  the  world  came  crowding  up  to 


32  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

congratulate  him  in  relation  to  so  graceful  and 
well-bred  a  youth,  he  was  unable  to  contain  the 
fulness  of  his  joy,  breaking  out  in  merry  peals  of 
laughter,  and  discovering  almost  the  dotage  of 
a  fool ,  but  the  people  of  Grimwiesd  ascribed 
'.In  so  uiniAial  demonstrations  of  joy  to  his  great 
love  for  his  nephew,  and  viewed  them  as  all  per 
fectly  natural  At  the  same  time,  he  was  com 
pelled  now  and  then  to  treat  his  nephew  \vnii 
the  authority  of  a  father;  for  the  young  man 
would  take.it  into  his  head,  in  die  midst  of  his 
most  elegant  dancing,  to  make  a  bold  spring 
upon  the  scaffold  where  the  musicians  were  sit 
ting,  snatch  his  bass  accompaniment  from  the 
hand  of  the  organist,  and  scratch  and  rattle  it 
fully ;  or  he  would  all  at  once  cast  himself 
down  and  dance  upon  his  hands,  while  he  stuck 
his  feet  up  into  the  air.  On  such  occasions,  his 
undo  used  to  take  him  aside,  give  him  a  severe 
reproof,  draw  his  neckcloth  more  close,  and  thus 
restore  him  to  propriety  of  manners. 

IX. 

v  Such  was  the  nephew's  behavior  in  company 
and  at  balls.  Now,  with  respect  to  manners, 
those  which  are  bad  arc  always  more  easily  imi 
tated  than  the  good ;  and  a  new  fashion  that  Li 


THE  STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.        33 

striking,  even  when  it  is  in  the  highest  degree 
ridiculous,  has  something  in  it  very  attractive  for 
young  people,  who  have  not  yet  reflected  upon 
themselves  or  the  world.  This  was  the  case  at 
Griinwiesel  in  regard  to  the  nephew  and  his  pe 
culiar  manners.  When  youngsters  from  fifteen 
to  seventeen  saw  how  welcome  he  was  with  his 
awkward  gait,  his  rude  laugh,  his  senseless  chat 
ter,  his  coarse  answers  to  his  elders ;  that  such 
conduct,  instead  of  being  censured,  was  prized 
as  indicative  of  a  daring,  independent,  or  finely- 
touched  spirit  —  this  was  the  conclusion  to  which 
they  came  :  "  There  will  be  no  great  difficulty 
in  becoming  a  spirited  clown  like  him."  In  past 
years,  they  had  prided  themselves  in  being  studi 
ous  and  clever  scholars;  but  now  their  cry  was, 
"  What's  the  use  of  learning,  when  ignorance  is 
so  much  more  successful  ? "  So  they  threw 
away  their  books,  visited  places  of  general  re 
sort,  and  drove  their  horses  up  and  down  the 
streets  full  speed.  Heretofore  they  had  been 
gentlemanly  in  their  deportment,  and  courteous 
to  every  one ;  they  had  waited  till  their  opinion 
was  asked,  and  then  made  answer  with  grace 
and  modesty ;  but  now  they  looked  upon  them 
selves  as  having  attained  the  rank  of  men,  stood 
chatting  with  them  as  with  equals,  advanced 
3 


34  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

their  opinions  with  confident  assurance,  and, 
win -n  the  burgomaster  made  a  remark,  laughed 
in  his  face,  telling  him,  with  effrontery,  that  they 
understood  all  that  much  better. 

Formerly,  the  youth  of  Griinwiesel  had  shrunk 
with  horror  from  all  rude  and  vulgar  behavior. 
Now,  they  sung  all  sorts  of  indecent  songs,  made 
we  of  monstrous  pipes  in  smoking,  and  got  into 
tavern  brawls  and  embarrassments;  they  bought 
them  huge  spectacles,  when  they  could  ice  per 
fectly  well  without  them,  set  them  astride  their 
nose,  and  now  fancied  themselves  to  be  made 
men;  for  they  were  accoutred  just  like  the  fa 
mous  nephew.  Both  at  home  and  when  they 
were  visiting  abroad,  they  stretched  t!n.-mselvc* 
on  the  sofa  in  their  boots  and  spurs,  rocked  their 
i  good  company,  or,  resting  their  elbows 
on  the  ta!)lo,  supported  their  heads  with  both 
bands — a  sight  most  charming  to  see.  It  was 
of  no  avail  that  OK  ir  mothers  and  friends  repre 
sented  to  tin  in  the  folly  and  impropriety  of  all 
this;  tin  v  Appealed  to  the  illustrious  example  of 
the  ncpli,  vv.  It  was  «.f  n<>  BH  t"  «'  H  ''••:••  t]  : 
a  certain  national  rudeness  was  excusable  in  the 
tew,  as  a  young  Englishman ;  the  youngster* 
of  Grunwicsel  maintained  that  they  had  just  as 
good  a  right  to  be  ill  mannered,  in  a  spirited 


THE    STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         35 

way,  as  the  best  Englishman  in  England;  in 
short,  it  was  a  calamity  that  the  good  manners 
and  old-school  usages  of  Griinwiesel  were,  by 
the  nephew's  bad  example,  completely  under 
mined. 

X. 

But  the  joy  with  which  the  young  novices 
viewed  their  wild,  unrestrained  freedom,  was  of 
short  continuance ;  for  an  event  took  place, 
which  at  once  changed  the  whole  scene.  The 
enjoyments  of  tha  winter  were  to  close  with  a 
grand  concert,  which  was  to  be  partly  per 
formed  by  the  musicians  of  the  town,  and  partly 
by  the  musical  amateurs  of  Griinwiesel.  The 
burgomaster  played  the  violoncello;  the  doctor 
touched  the  "bassoon  with  uncommon  skill ;  the 
apothecary,  although  he  was  not  accounted  much 
of  a  player,  blew  the  flute ;  some  young  ladies  of 
Griinwiesel  had  learnt  airs,  songs,  and  sonatas; 
and  every  thing  was  in  the  most  promising  prep 
aration.  The  old  stranger  then  observed,  that 
a  concert  of  this  kind  would  certainly  be  de 
lightful,  but  that  a  duet  waa  evidently  wanting, 
since  a  duet  was  viewed,  in  every  regular  con 
cert,  as  indispensable.  This  observation  caused 
no  little  perplexity :  the  daughter  of  the  burgo 
master,  it  is  true,  sung  like  a  nightingale ;  but 


36  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

where  should  they  get  a  gentleman  who  could 
sing  a  duet  with  her?  Allusion  was  at  last 
made  to  the  old  organist,  who  had  once  sung  an 
excellent  bass;  but  the  stranger  remarked,  that 
this  was  not  at  all  necessary,  as  his  nephew  was 
quite  remarkable  for  his  musical  attainments. 
All  were  much  astonished  at  this  new  discovery 
in  the  gifted  young  man ;  they  pressed  him  to 
give  them  a  specimen  of  his  vocal  powers,  and 
with  the  exception  of  some  peculiarities  of 
manner,  which  were  regarded  as  English,  he 
sung  like  an  angel.  A  duet  was  learnt  with  ail 
speed,  and  the  evening  at  length  arrived,  on 
which  the  ears  of  the  people  of  Grunwiescl 
were  to  be  ravished  by  the  concert. 

The  old  stranger,  we  regret  to  say,  was  una 
ble  to  witness  the  triumph  of  his  nephew,  owing 
to  indisposition;  but  he  gave  the  burgomaster, 
who  called  to  see  him  an  hour  before,  some 
din-'-tiotis  limv  to  manage  his  nephew.  "  He  is 
a  fine  fellow,  that  nephew  of  mine,"  said  he; 
'•  l.iit  now  and  then  he  falls  into  a  whirl  of  the 
will!-  <  vairarirn,  and  then  his  mad  scampering 
commences  I  am  therefore  sorry  that  I  cannot 
be  present  nt  the  concert;  for  before  me  he 
takes  good  heed  to  himself,  and  he  well  know*' 
for  what  reason.  This,  too,  1  most  say  to  his 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         37 

credit,  —  that  his  freaks  do  not  spring  from  a 
wayward  viciousness  of  mind,  but  purely  from  an 
exuberance  of  animal  spirits,  that  is  inherent  in 
his  nature.  Would  you  be  so  kind,  Mr.  Burgo 
master,  should  he  chance  to  fall  into  his  wild  hu 
mors, —  jumping  upon  the  music-desk,  attempt 
ing  to  manage  the  bass,  or  the  like, — would 
you  just  loosen  his  high  neckcloth,  or,  if  that 
should  not  bring  him  to  order,  take  it  wholly  off, 
you  will  see  how  gentle  and  well  behaved  he 
will  be." 

The  burgomaster  thanked  the  sick  man  for 
the  confidence  he  had  reposed  in  him,  and 
promised,  in  case  of  necessity,  to  do  as  he  had 
advised  him. 

The  concert  hall  was  excessively  crowded,  for 
all  Griinwiesel  and  its  vicinity  were  there.  All 
the  huntsmen,  ministers^,  officers*;  landlords,  and 
the  like,  wttnin  the  circuit  of  three  leagues, 
came  pressing  in  with  their  numerous  families, 
to  share  this  rare  enjoyment  with  the  inhabitants 
of  Griinwiesel.  The  town  musicfans  perfonm d 
excellently  well ;  next  to  them  ranked  the  bur 
gomaster,  who  played  the  violoncello,  accom 
panied  by  the  apothecary,  who  blew  the  flute ; 
after  these,  the  organist  gave  a  solemn  chant 
with  universal  applause ;  and  even  the  doctor 

t 


38  THE  STRANOEtl's  NEPHEW. 

got  a  good  share  of  clapping,  when  he  startled 
the  ear  with  the  deep  tones  of  his  bassoon. 

The  first  part  of  the  concert  was  now  finished, 
and  all  were  eagerly  expecting  the  second,  in 
which  the  young  stranger  was  to  give  a  duet  \\  ith 
the  daughter  of  the  burgomaster.  The  nephew 
appeared  in  a  dress  of  great  magnificence,  and  had 
been  long  attracting  the  attention  of  all  present 
H  !n<l,  without  leave  or  license,  plumped  d«)\vu 
into  a  gorgeous  arm-chair,  in  which  a  neigh-, 
boring  c*ountess  was  to  have  been  seated;  he 
stretched  his  legs  far  out  before  him,  stared  at 
every  body  through  a  monstrous  quizzing-glass, 
which  he  sported  in  addition  to  his  huge  pair 
of  spectacles,  and  prayed  with  an  overgrown 
mastiff,  which,  notwithstanding  the  order  for 
excluding  dogs,  he  had  introduced  into  the 
company.  The  countess,  for  whom  the  arm 
chair  had  been  prepared,  came  in  ;  but  the  only 
person  wlm  \\.L-  not  prompt  to  rise  and  make 
room  for  her,  was  the  nephew ;  he,  on  the  con 
trary,  adjusted  himself  still  more  comfortably  in 

<eat,  and  no  one  ventured  to  whisper  in  his 
ear  the  slightest  hint  of  his  ungentlemanly  con- 

•     The  distin}.".  lady  was  obliged  to  take 

quite  an  ordinary  straw-bottomed  chair,  among 
the  females  of  the  place  —  a  circumstance  that 


THE   STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         39 

was  as  disagreeable  to  herself  as  mortifying  to 
others. 

During  the  admirable  execution  of  the  burgo 
master,  the  fine  chanting  of  the  organist,  even 
while  the  doctor  was  pouring  forth  his  wild 
bassoon  voluntary,  and  every  one  held  his  breath 
and  listened,  the  nephew  kept  making  the  dog 
fetch  and  carry  his  handkerchief;  and  then  he 
would  set  up  a  loud  jabbering  with  the  person 
who  sat  next  to  him,  so  that  all  who  did  not 
know  the  young  gentleman,  were  amazed  at  the 
vulgarity  of  his  manners. 

It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  the  company 
were  quite  impatient  to  hear  him  sing  his  duet. 
The   second  part    began ;   the  town  musicians 
performed   a  short  overture,  when   the   burgo 
master  led  his  daughter  up  to  the  young  man, 
handed  him  a   sheet  of  music,  and  said,  "  My 
lord,  would  it  be  agreeable  to  you  now  to  sing 
the  duetto?"     The  young  man  laughed,  showed 
his  white  teeth,  leaped  up,  and  both  father  and 
daughter  followed  him  to  the  music-desk,  while 
the  whole  crowd  were  in  the  hush  of  expecta 
tion.     The  organist   struck  the  note,  and  mo 
tioned  to  the  nephew  to  begin.     He  gazed  upon 
the  notes  through    his  enormous   glasses,   and 
uttered  a  sort  of  howl  the  most  hideous  and 


40  THE  STUANGEU'S  M.l'HEW. 

doleful.  But  the  organist  shouted  to  him, "  Two 
notes  lower,  your  excellency !  C  is  the  note  you 
must  strike  —  C ! " 

But,  instead  of  striking  C,  the  nephew  pulled 
off  one  of  his  shoes,  and  flung  it  at  the  organ 
ist's  head,  making  the  -powder  fly  like  a  mist. 
When   the   burgomaster   saw   this,   he  thought 
within  himself,  "  Ha !  now  his  animal  affections 
arc  upon  him  again ; "  and,  springing  to  where 
he  stood,  he  grasped  him  by  his  neckcloth,  and 
made  it  much  looser ;  hut  this  only  excited  the 
young  man  still  worse;   he  spoke  German  no 
more,   but  the    strangest    Babel  jargon   under 
heaven,   which   nobody   understood,  and  made 
astonishing  leaps.     The  burgomaster  was  in  de 
spair  at  this  unpleasant  disturbance;  and,  lin 
ing  tin-  impression  that  something  very  extraordi 
nary  must  be  the  matter  with  the  >"iing  man, 
he  took  the  uncle's  hint  of  entirely  freeing  him 
from  his  neckcloth.     But  hardly  had  he  done 
tin-,  win  n  In-  Mood  petrified  with  horror; 
iltttcad  of  t  human  skin  and  complexion,  the 
youngster"!  neck  had  a  dark-brown  hide ;  and 
the  momrnt  he  leaped  higher  and  more  wildly,  he 
ick  his  gloved  hand-  into  his  hair,  tore  it  furi 
ously  from  his  head,  and — O  wonderful  change! 
—  those  beautiful  locks  were  nothing  but  a  wig, 


THE  STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.        41 

which  he  threw  in  the  burgomaster's  face;  and 
his  head  now  appeared  covered  with  the  same 
brown  hide  ! 

He  jumped  over  tables  and  benches,  overset 
the  music-desk,  crushed  and  trampled  upon  fid 
dles  and  clarionets,  and  seemed  to  be  perfectly 
frantic.  "  Seize  him  !  seize  him ! "  cried  the 
burgomaster,  quite  beside  himself;  "  he  is  out 
of  his  senses;  seize  him!"  This  was  no  easy 
matter ;  for  he  had  pulled  off  his  gloves,  and 
now  showed  his  fingers  armed  with  nails,  with 
which  he  gave  the  people's  faces  a  woful  scratch- 
in<r.  At  last  a  stout  huntsman  succeeded  in 

O 

mastering  him.  With  a  strong  grasp,  he  pressed 
his  long  arms  hard  together,  so  that  he  could 
do  nothing  but  kick  with  his  feet,  and  laugh 
and  scream  with  his  hoarse  voice.  The  people 
gathered  round,  and  looked  at  the  strange  young 
gentleman,  who  now  bore  only  a  caricature  re 
semblance  to  a  man ;  but  a  learned  naturalist, 
who  lived  in  the  neighborhood,  and  possessed 
an  extensive  collection  of  curiosities  in  nat 
ural  history,  with  a  great  variety  of  stuffed 
animals,  pressed  through  the  crowd,  carefully 
examined  him,  and,  struck  with  wonder,  ex 
claimed,  "  My  God!  how  came  you,  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  to  admit  this  animal  into  the  society 


42  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

of  human  beings?  He  is  a  monkey  —  the  Trog 
lodyte  man  of  Linnaeus!  I  will  give  iix  dollars 
for  him,  the  moment  he  is  brought  to  me,  and 
will  add  him  to  my  collection ! " 

XI. 

Who  can  describe  the  astonishment  of  the 
people  of  Griinwiesel,  when  they  heard  this! 
"  What !  a  monkey,  an  ourang-outang,  in  our 
company  !  The  young  stranger  nothing  but  a 
common  ape !  "  they  cried,  as  they  looked  in  one 
another's  faces,  all  stupefied  with  amazement 
They  would  not  believe,  they  could  not  credit, 
what  they  had  heard ;  the  men  carefully  exam 
ined  their  spirited  young  friend;  but  he  was, 
and  he  continued  to  be,  no  more  than  a  monkey, 
or,  at  most,  a  gentleman  baboon. 

"But  how  can  this  be  possible?"  cried  the 
burgomaster's  lady.  "  Has  he  not  often  read  me 
his  poems  T  Has  he  not  dined  with  me  like  * 
real  man?" 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  doctor's  lady,  with 
passionate  displeasure  —  "what!  has  he  not 
once  and  again  drank  coffee  with  me?  Has 
he  not  smoked,  and  learnt  to  talk  German,  with 
my  husband?" 

ilow!  is  it  possible?"  cried  the  men.  "lias 


THE  STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.        43 

he  not  played  nine-pins  with  us  at  the  rock-cel 
lar,  and  got  into  a  heat  in  talking  politics,  just 
like  one  of  us  ?  " 

"And  how  can  it  be?"  they  all  asked  in 
grief  and  mortification.  "  Has  he  not  led  the 
dance  at  our  balls  1  An  ape !  a  monkey !  It  is 
marvellous,  it  is  magic  ! " 

"  Yes,  it  is  sorcery  and  devilish  enchantment, 
a  vision  of  the  black  art!"  cried  the  burgomaster, 
as  he  produced  the  neckcloth  of  the  nephew  or 
monkey.  "  Behold !  here  is  the  charm,  which 
has  rendered  him  so  admirable  in  our  eyes,  at 
tached  to  this  neckcloth!  It  is  a  broad  strip 
of  elastic  parchment,  inscribed  with  all  sorts  of 
mysterious  characters.  I  think  it  is  Latin.  Is 
there  no  one  here  who  can  read  it  ? " 

The  chief  minister,  a  learned  man,  who  had 
lost  many  a  game  at  chess  in  playing  with  the 
ape,  came  up,  looked  at  the  parchment,  and  said,  / 
"  No,  no;  it  is  not  Latin.     The  words  are  merely 
written  in  Roman  letters,  and  read  thus :  — 

'YOUR.  APE'S.  A.  WONDROUS.  FUNNY. 

FELLOW. 

AT.  LEAST.  WHEN. MUNCHING.  APPLES. 
MELLOW.' 

Yes,  yes ;  it  is  some  witchcraft,  some  delusion 


44  THE  STKAN<  11PHEW. 

of  hell!"  he  continued;  "and  its  author  ought 
to  suffer  condign  punishment" 

"  He  SHALL  suffer  it !  "  exclaimed  the  burgo 
master,   and    immediately  set  off  to  seize   th«- 

:ger,  who,  beyond  all  dispute,  was  a  sorcerer ; 
while  six  soldiers  of  the  town  guard  carried  the 
:i}>r ;  for  the  stranger  was  to  be  instantly  hurried 
before  a  magistrate  for  examination. 

.rroundcd  by  an  immense  crowd  of  people, 
they  soon  reached  the  solitary  house ;  for  every 
one  was  anxious  to  see  how  the  matter  would 
end.  They  knocked  at  the  door;  they  pulled 
the  bell ;  but  all  in  vain :  no  one  appeared.  The 
burgomaster  was  inflamed  with  fury,  and,  order* 
ing  his  men  to  burst  open  the  door,  rushed  up 
to  the  stranger's  room.  But  nothing  was  to  be 
•een  there,  except  various  articles  of  old  house 
hold  furniture ;  the  stranger  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  Dut  a  large  scaled  letter  lay  on  his 
table,  addressed  to  the  burgomaster,  who  in 
trembling  excitement  opened  it.  The  letter 

ran  thus:  — 

• 

MY    EXCELLENT   FRIENDS   OP   Glt|JNWIE*EL  ! 

"  When  you  read  this  line,  I  shall  be  no  longer 

our  little  town,  and  you  will  have  already  ' 
discovered  the  quality  and  country  of  my  be- 


THE  STRANGER'S   NEPHEW.         45 

loved  nephew.  Please  to  receive  the  joke 
which  I  have  enjoyed  at  your  expense,  as  a 
good-natured  warning  not  to  urge  a  stranger  to 
mix  with  your  society,  when  he  prefers  to  live 
retired.  I  really  felt  myself  too  good  to  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  your  everlasting  gossip, 
your  wretched  customs,  and  your  ridiculous 
modes  of  life.  I  therefore  educated  a  young 
ourang-outang,  to  whom,  as  my  representative, 
you  have  given  so  heartwarm  a  welcome.  Fare 
well,  and  make  the  best  use  in  your  power  of 
the  lesson  I  have  given  you." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  the  Griinwie- 
selites  were  excessively  ashamed,  and  that  they 
became  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole  country. 
Still  their  comfort  was,  that  they  had  been  made 
the  victims  of  an  unnatural  imposture.  But  the 
young  men  of  Griinwiesel  were  most  ashamed, 
in  consequence  of  having  viewed  the  baboon's 
animal  habits  and  wild  antics  as  worthy  of  im 
itation.  From  that  day  forward  they  avoided 
leaning  upon  their  elbows  ;  they  left  off  rocking 
and  tilting  back  their  chairs;  they  were  no 
longer  so  intrusive  as  to  advance  their  opinion 
till  it  was  asked ;  they  laid  aside  their  pipes  and 
spectacles,  and  became  as  well  behaved  and  gen- 


46  THE  STRANGER'S  NEPHEW. 

tlemanly  as  they  had  been  before;  and  win-never 
any  one  happened  to  be  guilty  of  such  bad  hab 
its  and  awkward  manners,  the  Grunwicselites 
would  exclaim,  "  That  has  a  smack  of  the 
stranger's  nephew ! "  or,  "  Has  our  noble  ac 
quaintance,  the  young  master  of  the  ceremonies, 
come  to  town  again  ?  " 

To  conclude  our  story :  —  The  ape  that  had 
so  long  played  the  part  of  a  young  gentleman, 
was  delivered  to  the  learned  naturalist  He 
feeds  him,  allows  him  to  course  round  his  court 
at  will,  and  shows  him  to  strangers  as  a  curiosity; 
and  there  he  continues  to  this  day,  at  home  to  all 
who  come  to  make  him  a  call. 


THE    SWISS   BOY'S   FAREWELL. 


SWEET  River  Rhone !  sweet  River  Rhone  ! 

Thou  playmate  of  my  earliest  day !  , 

I've  wandered  many  a  weary  mile, 

And  yet  along  thy  banks  I  stray. 
Mount  Furca*  now  is  far  behind, — 

That  cradle  which  we  both  have  known; 
And  this,  they  say,  is  France;  but  still 

I'm  with  a  friend,  sweet  River  Rhone ! 

I'm  with  a  friend  whose  every  wave 

Leaps  gayly  by  my  father's  door , 
And  many  a  pleasing  thought  I've  had 

To  see  thee  there  fret,  foam,  and  roar. 
I've  wondered,  in  my  childish  dreams, 

If  in  thy  tide  some  sky  was  thrown, 
To  make  thy  waters  all  so  blue, 

So  like  to  heaven,  sweet  River  Rhone  ! 

The  glaciers  at  old  Furca's  top 
Did  seem  thy  cold,  blue,  nursing  mother, 

And  thou  an  infant  chill  and  lone, 
Toddling  from  one  rough  stone  to  t'other. 

*  The  source   of  the  Rhone  is  at  the   foot   of  one  of  the 
Alps,  called  Mount  Furca. 


48  THE  swiss  BOY'S  FAREWELL. 

But  soon  thou  learned 'at  to  leap  and  run, 
And  then  at  last  thou  went'at  alone; 

Tet  brighter  ever  didst  thou  Sow, 

When  I  was  there,  sweet  River  Rhone! 

And  now  we're  come  together  here, 

By  many  a  turn,  through  many  a  dell,— 
O'er  rock,  and  crag,  and  beetling  wall, — 

To  part  at  hut— to  Bay  farewell. 
We  put,  —  for  thou  must  seek  the  tea, 

And  go  thy  way  to  roe  unknown ; 
And  I  must  on  to  Paris  hie, 

As  lost  to  thee,  sweet  River  Rhone ! 

Farewell !  nor  deem  them  idle  tears, 

That  down  my  cheek  unbidden  flow ; 
For  now  thou  scem'st  my  dearest  friend, 

Thou'rt  linked  with  home  and  parents  so. 
Farewell!   but  rest  and  ease  shall  be 

To  these  young  limbs  unsought,  unknown, 
Till,  blest  with  wealth,  the  Swiss  return 

To  hone  and  thee,  sweet  River  Rhooe! 


STANZAS 

BY   F.   8.   JEWETT. 

THE  sweet  voices  of  evening  are  lost  in  the  gale, 
And  the  spirit  of  tempest  exults  o'er  the  tale ; 
But  the  darkness  of  midnight  in  vain  shall  depart, 
For  the  voice  of  the  storm  is  the  voice  of  the  heart. 

And  the  promise  of  youth,  and  its  gladness,  are  o'er ; 
And  the  smile  of  existence  shall  charm  me  no  more : 
On  my  brow  is  revealed  the  pale  signet  of  grief — 
Of  the  cankerous  blight  that  asks  no  relief. 

i 

Like  the  oak  of  the  forest  when  dauntless  in  pride, 
I  stood  with  the  sunlight  of  love  by  my  side ; 
Like  the  oak  when  the  red  wing  of  lightning  had  passed, 
I  was  bowed,  for  that  love  was  struck  down  by  the 
blast. 

I  have  dreamed  —  'twas  of  bliss;  but  my  dream  woke 

in  tears, 

And  the   gloom  was  yet  deepened  by  gathering  fears; 
For  hope  fled  away,  and,  wearied  with  care, 
I  sunk  to  repose  on  the  couch  of  despair. 

4 


5  0  STANZAS. 

The  curtains  of  midnight  no  figures  reveal ; 
Through  the  temple  of  silence  no  whispers  can  steal  ; 
As  dark  as  that  curtain,  as  still  as  that  care, 
As  ray  lens  and  silent,  —  my  heart  is  a  grave. 


AN    OMITTED    PICKWICK    PAPER, 


RESTORED    BY   POZ. 


CHAPTER    CCXIV. 

jf 

Showing  Mr.  Welter's  Vieics  relating  to  Matrimony, 
with  a  slight  Touch  at  Widowhood. 

As  soon  as  the  church  services  were  over,  Mr. 
Pickwick,  according  to  the  arrangement  previ 
ously  hinted  at,  mounted  the  Stanhope,  in  com 
pany  with  Mr.  Weller,  senior,  who,  after  comfort 
ably  settling  his  coat-flaps,  adjusting  his  cravat, 
and  collecting  the  reins  in  due  style,  flourished 
the  whip,  and  the  horses  rattled  off  at  a  smart 
pace. 

The  united  weights  of  Mr.  Pickwick  and 
Mr.  Weller  served  to  trim  the  vehicle  admirably ; 
and  the  smooth,  rolling  motion  seemed  to  inspire 
an  equally  smooth  current  of  thought,  while  it 
was  favorable  to  the  delivery  of  such  ideas  as 
presented  themselves. 

"  A  very  good  sermon,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick ; 


~>-2  AN  OMITTED  PK  KWICK  PAPER. 

"  very  impressive  in  the  manner  of  delivery,  and 
full  of  proper  rules  and  suggestions  for  persons 
entering  upon  the  married  state." 

"  Why  —  yes  —  your  honor,"  slowly  conceded 
Mr.  Weller.  "  It  was  all  werry  vel,  cordin*  to 
the  notions  of  folks  in  gineral ;  werry  much 
artcr  the  style  of  '  The  Young  Usbantfs  Oirn 
Book,'  and  that  sort  o*  thing.  But  still,  folks 
as  had  hexperence  sometimes  thinks  ,that  tln-ir 
own  thoughts  is  more  waluable  to  themselves 
than  any  book  stuff.  Cos  vy  ?  It  sounds  mighty 
veil ;  but  'taint  never  practical.  Sammy  alvays 
says,  'Give  me  practice,  and  not  precept,  as  th 
starving  doctor  said  to  a  friend  as  was  adwisin' 
him.'" 

"I  should  really  like  to  have  some  of  your 
\ie\vson  tlio  subject. "  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  "  ! 
have  no  doubt  that  they  would  prove  hi«.'hl\ 
instructive,  and  I  am  sorry  that  Samuel  is  not 
here  to  profit  by  them." 

Mr.  Weller  gave  a  ily  glance  at  his  friend 
The  idea  that  Mr.  Pickwick  was  beginning  seri 
ously  to  think  of  committing  matrimony  himself, 
flashed  for  a  moment  acroM  his  mind ;  but  in  the 
calm  expression  of  Mr.  Pickwick's  countenance, 
he  saw  at  once  that  he  had  no  other  desire  than 
that  of  gleaning  knowledge,  \\herever  it  could 


AN    OMITTED     PICKWICK    PAPER.      53 

be  found;  and,  feeling  much  flattered  at  the 
compliment,  promptly  replied,  — 

"  My  views,"  says  he,  "  is  short  and  compre 
hensive,  and  amounts  to  pretty  much  wot  I  told 
Sammy,  the  last  thing  afore  he  went  to  church. 
'  Sammy,'  says  I,  '  as  you  are  now  henterin'  on  a 
new  road,  one  as  proves  smooth  to  some,  and 
rough  enough  to  the  mejority  ;  it  vouldn't  be 
right  for  a  old  un,  and  like  your  father,  not  to 
give  you  some  hints  how  to  steer.  I  sees,  by  your 
snickerin',  that  you  don't  think  I've  any  great 
claims  to  dexterity  in  drivin"  on  that  road  myself, 
and  shouldn't  set  up  for  a  teacher  of  the  art. 
But  recollect,  Sammy,  that  a  man  as  has  been 
vunce  taken  in,  orlers  remembers  it,  and  avvoids 
bein'  taken  in  the  same  vay :  —  consekens  is,  he 
knows  how  to  teach  others  to  awoid  it.  Now, 
Sammy,  vot  I  have  to  say  is  —  you  bein'  mar 
ried,  all  you  have  to  do  is,  to  make  the  best 
on  it.' " 

"A  plain  and  valuable  truth,  and  clearly  ex 
pressed,"  interrupted  Mr.  Pickwick. 

Mr.  Weller  resumed,  —  "  '  It's  true  of  vimmen 
as  dsses,  that  they  needs  a  tight  rein.  My  diffi 
culty  has  bin,  that  I'm  by  natur  too  complyin'. 
Awoid  that  weakness,  Sammy,  for  it's  nat'rally 
in  your  blood,  and  try  to  be  hobstinate.  In  that 


54  AN   OMITTED   PICKWICK  PAPKU. 

vay,  you'll  make  yourself  respected  and  looked  up 
to  by  your  vife.  Alvays  contredict  her  in  little 
things,  Sammy :  it  lets  her  see  that  you  think 
more  of  yourself  than  her  ;  and  venever  she  be- 
gins  to  cry,  Sammy,  to  make  you  give  in,  —  for 
all  vim  men  is  up  to  that  gammon,  sooner  or  later, 
—  then,  on  the  werry  fust  symptoms,  have  ready 
a  good,  strong,  leather  strap,  and  lay  it  about 
her  till  she  veeps  in  airnest.  This  is  a  werry 
good  cure  to  fits  of  that  kind,  and  I  only  vishcs 
I  had  tried  it  myself,  early.  But  the  chief  part 
of  your  duty,  Sammy,  is  not  toward  yourself  or 
your  vife,  but  to  the  world  in  ginral.  It  is,  to 
take  care  of  your  health,  so  as  to  live  a  good 
long  life,  and  not  die  fust 

"  '  A  man,  Sammy,  as  dies  before  his  vife,  is 
of  consekens  guilty  of  a  haynous  offence  to 
society  and  to  her.  Ho  leaves  a  voman  as 
night  have  bin  a  ornament  to  'siety.  in  a  • 
character.  She  becomes  a  vidder,  Sammy,  and 
there's  no  tell  in'  how  much  mischief  she  von't 
do,  as  long  as  there's  breath  in  her  body.  I'm 
so  persvaded  of  the  importance  of  this  'ere  view, 
thai  venever  I  sees  a  man  as  loves  his  vife  a 
lamcntin*  an'  sorrowin'  over  her  Tallin'  away,  it 
seems  to  me  unaccountable  that  he  will  shut 
to  eyes  to  the  consolin'  fact,  that  she's  as  good 


AN    OMITTED    PICKWICK     PAPER.      55 

as   insured  against  splitting   on   the   rocks   of 
vidderhood. 

"  '  Vidders,  Sammy,  has,  from  time  'memorial, 
had  their  names  up  for  mischief,  and  an  aggra- 
watin'  propensity  to  set  up  their  own  Ebenezers. 
They  say  that  there's  not  a  line  in  the  Bible  that 
don't  teach  some  mortal  truth.  Now,  jist  take 
the  story  about  the  vidder  and  the  unjust  judge. 
Afore  I  was  married  to  your  mother-in-law,  Sam 
my,  I  never  thought  much  about  that  story.  I 
thought,  as  I  dessay  many  does,  that  it  was 
written  'ginst  lawyers  and  judges.  P'raps  it 
was,  in  part;  but  the  'sential  pint  is,  to  warn 
you  against  the  insinivations  of  vidders.  The 
last  time  I  read  it,  it  made  such  a  impression  on 
me,  that  I  can  say  it  all  off  by  heart ;  and  it 
goes  this  vay : — Now,  listen  unto  vot  said  the 
unjust  judge.  "  Thof  I  fear  not  God,  nor  care 
a  damn  for  any  man,  yet  owin'  to  the  aggra- 
watin1  cryin'  and  hauntin'  of  this  vidder  by  day 
and  by  night,  I'm  determined  to  let  her  have 
her  own  vay." 

"  '  In  Ingy,  Sammivel,  (vere  they  has  had  the 
lights  of  hexperience  for  ages,  bein'  as  it  is  vun 
of  the  oldest  settled  places,)  in  Ingy,  they  con 
trives  it  so  as  never  to  have  any  vidders.  Tliry 
burns  'em  alive,  Sammy,  rcglar  as  their  usbands 


• 
56  AN  OMITTED  PICKWICK  PAPER. 

dies.  I've  no  doubt  that,  in  that  country,  men 
is  healthier  and  better  natur'd  than  here;  it 
must  Toiler  as  a  nat'ral  consekens.'  " 

When  Mr.  Weller  had  at  length  finished,  Mr. 
Pickwick,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  observed  — 

Some  of  your  deductions  arc  so  bold,  and 
contrary  to  most  of  our  habits  of  thought,  (pre 
judices  they  may  be,)  that  I  am  hardly  prepared 
to  pronounce  an  opinion  on  them  at  present. 
One  thing,  however,  I  must  say;  and  that  is, 
that  rarely,  if  ever,  have  I  received  such  a 
•accession  of  entirely  new  ideas,  and  better  ex 
pressed  ;  that  is,"  added  he,  with  some  qualifica 
tion,  "  more  plainly  spoken." 

The  reader  will  observe  that  we  have  been  at 
some  pains  to  give  in  full  the  peculiar  views  and 
MBttment*  which  were  entertained  by  the  strong- 
minded  though  uneducated  Mr.  Weller.  One 
further  illustration  remains  to  be  given,  and  this 
chapter  will  be  finished. 

In  Mr.  Pickwick's  library,  a  small,  hoUpressed, 
quarto  edition  of  a  certain  book,  entitled  "  Hints 
to  Married  People,"  had  remained  quietly  in 
it*  morocco  binding  and  gilt  edges  for  sever..! 
jean.  On  the  morning  after  the  above  com-  r- 
Mtion,  Mr.  Pickwick  banded  it  to  Mr.  \\ '«  Her, 
r,  with  the  request  that  he  would  have  it 


AN     OMITTED     PICKWICK     PAPER.      57 

read  aloud,  and  favor  him  by  making  marginal 
notes  of  such  thoughts  as  occurred  to  him. 

In  the  course  of  a  month,  it  was  returned, 
and  Mr.  Pickwick  had  the  pleasure  of  finding 
every  chapter  marked  at  the  end  in  a  strong, 
bold  hand.  One  or  two  were  thought  by 
Mr.  Weller  to  be  worthy  of  the  epithet 
"  GOOD  ; "  but  nine  out  of  ten  were  set  down 
as  "GAMMON." 

" 


THE    MADONNA. 
A    TRANSLATED    SKETCH. 

BY   NATHASIEL   OftEKRX. 

THE  day  had  been  sultry.  Resolved  to  avail 
mynelf  of  the  approach  of  evening  to  catch  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  upon  the  sea-shore,  I  pro 
vided  myself  with  a  guide,  and  sallied  from  the 
gates  of  Syracuse.  Before  wandering  far,  I 
suddenly  caught  a  view  of  the  most  interesting 
group  my  eyes  had  ever  beheld.  Upon  a  high, 
square  pedestal,  in  a  niche  which  on  one  side 
had  suffered  from  time  and  the  elements,  a 
marble  image  of  the  Madonna  stood  before  me. 
Countless  creeping  plants  twined  around  the 
shrine ;  a  gentle  breeze  played  among  the  dark- 
green  leaves  which  intercepted  the  last  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  and  threw  their  tremulous 
shadows  upon  the  pale  marble  face  of  the  im 
age.  The  dark  clouds  that  were  rolling  up 
from  Etna,  were  tinged  with  a  golden  purple ; 
and  before  me  lay  the  sea,  quiet  and  unruffled 
as  the  blue  heavens  it  reflected. 


THE     MADONNA.  59 

Mount  Etna,  the  sun,  the  sea  —  what  were 
they,  compared  with  the  maiden  who  knelt  be 
fore  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  with  her  family, 
in  prayer?  —  The  fires  of  Etna  flashed  in  her 
deep  blue  eye,  and,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  the 
commotion  of  the  volcano  was  but  too  true 
an  exponent  of  her  troubled  heart.  Her  mouth 
was  slightly  parted;  she  prayed.  But,  alas! 
the  voluptuousness  of  earthly  passion  glowed 
upon  her  swelling  lip.  Convulsively  she  clasped 
her  delicate  and  almost  transparent  hands, 
while  irrepressible  emotion  was  legible  in  her 
trembling  frame.  I  saw  at  once  that  she  was 
no  common  worshipper.  Her  humid  eyes  con 
stantly  wandered  from  the  marble  image,  scan 
ning  the  distance  with  such  earnestness  and 
power,  that,  had  I  stood  upon  the  summit  of 
Etna,  or  lain  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  that  look 
would  have  drawn  me  irresistibly  thence.  It 
was  but  too  evident  that  those  eyes  had  lost 
some  object  which  no  Madonna  could  restore 
to  their  longing  sight.  Her  fair  mother,  upon 
whose  placid  features  sat  the  blessed  light  of 
inward  peace,  knelt  by  her  side.  The  mother 
was  teaching  a  little  girl  of  about  six  years  to 
pray,  and  pointing  to  a  cross  sculptured  upon 
the  square  stone  pedestal.  In  a  cradle  near 


GO  THE    MADONNA. 

them  lay  a  sweetly-smiling  infant,  with  its  inno 
cent  eyes  directed  toward  the  cross  and  the 
Madonna  above  it.  There  were  also  others, 
women  and  maidens,  kneeling  before  the  image ; 
but  I  heeded  them  not  —  absorbed  as  I  was  in 
contemplation  of  the  strangely-expressive 
face  of  that  praying  girl. 

•  A'Ae,  also,  prays  in  vain .'  " 

Shrinking  with  sudden  terror,  I  gazed  around. 
Had  my  guide  spoken?  "Did  you  say  some 
thing,  Geronimo?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord  —  I  meant  that  prayer  would 
never  help  the  fair  Marcella  more." 

I  was  silent 

"  Old  Etna  has  been  a  long  time  quiet.  Pietro 
will  soon  rise  again  from  the  sea,  and  drag  her 
\\  ith  him  under  the  waves." 

These  words,  to  me,  were  perfectly  enigmati 
cal.  -Etna — Pietro — I  could  not  seize  the  con 
nection.  Geronimo  perceived  it. 

"  So  you  know  not  the  story  T  "  , 

"What  story  T" 

"Of  Pietro  and  Hermosa.  Fifty  years  are 
now  past  and  gone." 

"  What  was  it,  Geronimo? " 

Pietro  was  the  handsomest  youth  in  Syra 
cuse  ;  Hermosa,  the  fairest  of  Marcella's  family. 


THE    MADONNA.  61 

Pietro  was  poor ;  Hermosa,  rich.  Pietro  loved 
Hermosa.  So  far  it  is  a  common  story.  They 
could  not  be  united;  —  how  natural!  Hermosa 
must  marry  another. 

"  During  a  terrible  eruption  of  Mount  Etna, 
poor  Pietro,  here,  from  this  place,  —  I  know  not 
exactly  how,  —  threw  himself  into  the  sea.  But 
he  had  no  rest  there :  at  times  he  comes  again 
upon  earth,  in  a  form  so  fair  and  seductive,  that 
the  maiden  who  unfortunately  beholds,  must 
love  him,  and  is  irrevocably  lost.  On  the  even 
ing  before  the  wedding-day,  Pietro  sinks  again 
beneath  the  waves,  leaving  his  betrothed  in  de 
spair.  Hermosa  was  his  first  victim ;  the  sea 
closed  over  her  beauteous  form.  Eight  days 
ago,  Marcella's  betrothed  lover  disappeared.  I 
am  satisfied  he  was  no  other  than  Pietro,  and 
that  he  will  surely  compel  her  to  follow  him. 
He  usually  does  this  during  an  eruption  of 
Etna.  She  is  the  fourth  maiden  of  whom  Pietro 
has  robbed  her  family.  How  sad  it  is  to  know 
her  impending  fate,  and  be  unable  to  afford  her 

succor ! " 

******* 

Six  months  afterwards,  I  found  myself  again 
in  Syracuse.  My  first  visit  was  to  the  Madon 
na's  shrine.  The  same  family  were  kneeling 


62  THE    MADONNA. 

before  it.  Marcella's  mother  and  sister  were 
clad  in  deep  mourning.  Marcella  was  not 
there.  The  benignant  face  of  the  Madonna 
was  now  completely  hid  by  the  luxuriant  vines. 
She  hears  and  sees  no  more.  The  large  cross 
was  partially  covered  by  the  foliage,  and  seemed 
to  have  increased  in  size. 

Old  Geronimo  wept  while  he  related  to  me 
how  the  delicate  form  of  Marcella  became  a 
prey  to  the  fury  of  the  waves. 

I  am  not  superstitious;  but  I  could  not  look 
upon  the  little  child  in  the  cradle,  upon  the  sea 
beneath,  and  Mount  Etna  above  me,  without  a 
shudder. 


TO    THE    DREAMER 


SLEEP  on  !  I  would  not  break  thy  dream, 

Fair  lady,  for  its  tale  is  sweet : 
Sleep  on  !  for  soon  its  magic  beam 

Will  fade,  and  tell  the  cheat. 

Sleep  on  !  for  angel  wingj  are  o'er  thee, 

Strewing  thy  paths  of  thought  with  flowers ; 

And  love,  a  moment,  doth  restore  thee 
To  Eden's  loveliest  bowers. 

Sleep  on !  for  'tis  alone  in  this 

O'er  walls  of  Paradise  we  steal, 
And  seem  to  know  the  unmingled  bliss 

That  innocence  may  feel. 

Sleep  on  !  for  when,  alas !  we  wake, 
Expelled,  we  tread  a  world  of  care, 

Where,  if  the  rose  of  joy  we  take, 
The  thorn  —  the  thorn  is  there. 


THE    MISER. 


LIFE  is  a  journey  —  death  a  darksome  coast, 
Where  we  must  enter,  a  soul-freighted  bark, 

And,  all  despoiled,  resign  each  earthly  boast, 
Part  from  the  shore,  and  cleave  the  ocean  dark. 

The  Miser,  torn  reluttant  from  his  gold, 
A  shivering  pauper,  o'er  that  sea  is  hurled. 

He  strove  on  earth,  till  hcnp  on  heap  was  told, 
Yet  went  a  bankrupt  to  the  other  world. 

Not  one  heaven-current  penny  in  his  purse, 

A  bosom  only  stared  with  guilty  care, 
To  grumbling  heirs  his  wealth  is  left  a  cone, 
••  lost  in  life  and  death,  the  millioniuurt. 


IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH.* 

PART   I. 
EARLY   HISTORY   OF   THE   IRISH   NATION. 

THE  earliest  pages  of  history  relating  to  the 
northern  portion  of  Europe,  seem  but  the  rev 
elations  of  a  half-remembered  dream.  A  dim 
and  distant  pageant  of  barbarous  nations  pour 
ing  through  savage  forests,  is  presented  to  the 
view.  In  pausing  to  contemplate  this  living 
current,  we  are  able  to  trace  a  progress  from 
east  to  west,  and  amidst  infinite  variety,  to  mark 
the  signs  of  a  common  origin.  We  can  perceive 
that  these  tribes  gather  like  bees  along  the  fer 
tile  valleys  of  the  Danube,  the  Rhine,  and  the 
Rhone ;  yet  that,  ever  moving,  and  ever  extend 
ing  themselves  to  the  north  and  west,  they 
finally  overspread  the  largest  portion  of  Europe. 

*  This  article  was  originally  prepared  at  the  request  of  the 
committee  of  the  ''  Franklin  Lectures,"  in  Boston,  and  delivered 
before  that  association  at  the  "  Temple."  It  was  subsequently 
enlarged,  and  delivered  on  several  occasions,  as  two  lectures. 
It  is  now  given  to  the  readers  of  the  Token  without  material 
alteration. 

1* 


6  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

So  much  is  portrayed,  in  rude  and  shadowy 
outline,  by  the  opening  pages  of  history,  but  no 
*  more.  If,  urged  by  impatient  curiosity,  we  pen 
etrate  deeper  into  the  mystery  of  the  past,  every 
trace  of  light  vanishes  from  the  scene,  and 
we  grope  about  in  total  obscurity.  Like  the 
dreamer  who  strives  to  seize  upon  the  startled 
and  Sitting  ghosts  of  his  vision,  we  only  meet 
with  disappointment,  and  are  left  to  that  vain 
and  vexatious  regret  which  attends  the  loss  of 
the  substance,  in  the  effort  to  grasp  the  shadow. 

Turning  back  from  this  unavailing  pursuit, 
and  treading  the  denned  paths  of  history,  we  are 
able  to  assure  ourselves  that,  about  two  thousand 
years  before  the  Christian  era,  various  tribes  of 
Asiatics,  under  the  general  name  of  Celts,  had 
already  begun  to  people  Europe.  By  a  process 
similar  to  that  in  which  our  own  u  coun 

try  is  now  settling,  the  march  of  emigration 
continued  till  the  middle  and  northern  portions 
of  the  continent  were  peopled. 

While  these  events  were  in  progress,  the  mar 
itime  or  southern  portion  of  Europe  —  that 
which  lies  along  the  Mediterranean — was  be 
coming  settled  by  emigrants  from  the  commer 
cial  cities  and  states  of  Asia  and  Africa.  Thus 
Europe  was  filling  up  by  two  great  streams  of 


IRELAND    AND     THE     IRISH.  7 

emigration,  the  one  occupying  Greece,  Italy, 
and  Spain  ;  the  other  spreading  over  Germany, 
France,  Britain,  and  the  more  northern  portions 
of  Europe.  Along  the  line  of  separation,  be 
tween  these  rival  streams,  the  settlers  often  met, 
and,  wrestling  for  a  time,  either  parted  or  were 
at  last  mingled  in  one  common  mass. 

The  founders  of  Greece  and  Rome  brought 
with  them  the  germs  of  civilization.  Their 
descendants  settled  down  in  cities,  cultivated 
letters,  and  kept  written  records.  From  these 
enough  has  been  transmitted  to  give  us  a  gen 
eral  idea  of  their  early  history.  But  it  was  not 
so  with  the  more  northern  settlers  of  Europe. 
The  Celts  were  a  roving  race,  half  warrior  and 
half  husbandman.  They  all  brought  with  them 
some  of.  the  Tartar  characteristics.  They  built 
few  towns,  but  like  our  Daniel  Boone,  of  Ken 
tucky,  seemed  always  to  fly  from  the  approach 
of  civilization  into  the  yet  untrodden  forest. 
Among  such  a  people,  there  were  no  historians. 
Nations  came  and  vanished,  leaving  not  a  trace 
behind.  Numerous  as  the  very  leaves  of  the 
forest,  and  almost  as  transient,  like  these  they 
sank  to  their  unwritten  graves.  Beneath  this 
shroud  the  first  settlers  of  Europe  sleep ;  nor  can 
human  magic  evoke  them  from  their  dread  re- 


8  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

.  And  yet,  with  little  pretence  to  sorcery,  I 
propose  to  introduce  to  you  a  nation  of  Celts  — 
living  and  breathing  men,  speaking  at  this  very 
hour  the  language  of  those  remote  and  shadowy 
tribes  which  flourished  four  thousand  years  ago. 
There  is  nothing  more  remarkable  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  human  family,  thrui  the  pertinacity 
with  which  certain  races  of  men  preserve  their 

.tity  from  age  to  age,  —  seeming  to  set  at 
defiance  all  those  circumstances  which  s\\ 
others  into  oblivion,  or  subject  tin-in  to  the 
trampling  hoof  of  innovation  and  change.  We 
find  a  familiar  instance  of  this  in  the  Jews. 
Their  history  presents  the  most  remarkable 
series  of  vicissitudes  that  has  ever  attended  the 
fate  of  a  nation ;  yet  to  this  day  they  maintain 
tin-  came  ]ih\  -i.-al  tr.nis,  the  same  moral  charao 

>tics,  as  in  the  remotest  period  to  which  the 

>rds  of  the  past  can  carry  us.  Though  t 
are  now  swept  otit  of  their  native  land,  and 
scattered  like  autumn  leaves  over  the  world, 
yet,  \\li--iiit-r  in  one  hemisphere  or  another,  we 
tin'!  ii  •  '  i  always  possessing  the  same  strong 
lineaments,  and  bearing  the  im;>r<  nf  the  same 

soli  tun     rriiir:n!.ran<-,--.       And    li:;-    ifl    -.ml    ••!'    a 

people  living  apart  in  a  thousand  fragments,  and, 
while  mingling  in  daily  intercourse  with  <>tl 


IRELAND    AND    THE     IRISH.  9 

% 

still  maintaining  themselves  as  a  distinct  and 
peculiar  people.  Like  the  Gulf-stream  —  a  river 
in  the  midst  of  the  ocean  —  bending  from  the 
tropics  to  the  frozen  zone,  and  after  sweeping 
the  borders  of  two  continents,  circling  back  to 
the  point  where  it  began,  —  so  the  Jews,  in  the 
midst  of  other  nations,  hold  on  their  way  —  a 
current  that  time  cannot  check,  that  vicissi 
tudes  cannot  change. 

We  may  draw  another  illustration  of  our  posi 
tion  from  the  Gypsies.  These  are  evidently  the 
fragments  of  a  great  nation,  wrecked  so  far  up 
the  stream  of  time  that  we  cannot  distinctly 
trace  its  story.  But  wherever  you  find  them, 
whether  in  Spain,  Hungary,  Bohemia,  Britain, 
or  even  in  Persia,  they  are  essentially  the  same 
vagrant  "  hard-faring  race,"  always  appearing 
to  bear  in  their  minds  the  same  dark  and  mysti 
cal  superstitions.  And  these,  too,  in  the  midst 
of  other  nations,  still  hold  themselves  apart. 
Like  oil  in  immediate  contact  with  water,  re 
fusing  all  admixture  and  still  preserving  its 
identity,  the  Gypsies  continue  from  age  to  age 
to  defy  alike  the  common  elements  of  destruc 
tion  and  mutation. 

If  we  turn  to  Europe,  where  shall  we  find  the 
example  of  a  nation  thus  perpetuating  itself  in 


1  0  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

^pite  of  all  resistance;  thus  marching  down  in 
solid  column  from  the  remote  and  mistv  pre 
cincts  of  antiquity  to  our  own  day,  and  bring 
ing  with  them  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  < 
toins  of  their  shadowy  forefathers?  If  we  look 
to  Greece,  we  may  perhaps  find  the  semblance 
of  the  fickle  Athenian  ;  but  where  shall  we  dis 
cover  the  representative  of  the  stern,  self-sacrifi 
cing  Spartan?  If  we  go  to  Italy,  shall  we  find  in 
the  soft  devotee  of  dalliance  and  song  the  lineal 
descendant  of  those  haughty  worshippers  of  the 
god  of  war,  that  once  shook  the  earth  with  their 
martial  deeds,  and  at  last  embraced  the  civilized 
world  in  their  gigantic  grasp?  Where  is  the 
race  of  Britons  that  boldly  confronted,  and  al 
most  baffled,  the  Roman  victor  of  a  hundred 
fields  ?  Where  are  those  ancient  Gauls,  that  re 
sisted  for  nine  campaigns  the  greatest  warrior 
of  antiquity,  with  the  Roman  legions  at  his 
back?  Where,  in  all  the  north,  —  in  Denmark, 
Sweden,  Norway, — are  to  be  found  the  r. 
sentatives  of  those  wild  and  warlike  rovers  of 
the  main,  that  claimed  the  title  of  sea-king;*,  and 
achieved  deeds  worthy  of  their  name  f  Over  all 
these  nations  the  enchanter's  wand  has  passed, 
and  a  change  has  come  o'er  the  spirit  of  their 
dream.  Their  languages  have  passed  away,  or 


IRELAND    AND     THE     IRISH.  11 

are  only  found  as  ingredients  mingling  in  the 
compound  of  other  tongues.  Most  of  the  origi 
nal  tribes  have  been  winnowed  out  like  chaff, 
and  others  inherit  their  dominions. 

Yet  there  is  one  nation  in  Europe  that  retains, 
nearly  in  its  purity,  the  language  of  its  original 
inhabitants;  that  consists  of  the  lineal  descend 
ants  of  the  first  settlers  of  its  soil,  and  retains  to 
this  very  hour  traces  of  the  thoughts,  feelings, 
manners,  and  customs,  that  are  known  to  have 
existed  in  the  country  three  thousand  years  ago. 
And  where  is  this  nation  to  be  found?  Look 
upon  the  map,  and  you  will  see  that  the  portion 
of  Europe  which  lies  nearest  to  our  own  coun 
try,  consists  of  a  small  island,  scarcely  equal  in 
extent  to  the  state  of  Maine,  yet  possessing  a 
population  of  eight  millions  of  inhabitants.  This 
is  Ireland  ;  and  here  history  discloses  to  us  a  re 
markable  instance  of  that  self-perpetuation  to 
which  I  have  alluded.  The  neighboring  island 
of  Britain,  which  has  held  Ireland  in  bondage  for 
many  centuries,  has  not  only  lost  its  original  lan 
guage,  but  almost  every  trace  of  its  original  in 
habitants  has  long  been  swept  away.  Ireland, 
on  the  contrary,  has  sturdily  maintained  its  an 
cient  Celtic  tongue ;  and,  though  it  has  been,  at 
different  times,  overrun  by  other  nations,  the 


12  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

Celtic  stock  has  ever  hold  the  ascendency,  and 
wrought  off  from  age  to  age  all  foreign  inter 
mixtures,  thus  returning  to  its  original  purity. 

There  is  something  in  this  circumstance  \\rll 
calculated  to  excite  curiosity,  and  invite  invr>ti- 
gation.  The  study  of  Ireland  therefore  might 
seem  to  be  a  subject  of  intrinsic  interest.  But 
to  us,  Americans,  there  are  many  reasons  \vhy 
this  theme  should  engage  our  attention.  From 
whatever  causes  it  may  proceed,  the  fact  is  in 
disputable  that  Ireland  is  an  unhappy  country. 
Not  one  person  in  a  hundred  there  is  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  land  from  which  his  sustenance  is 
drawn,  or  of  the  roof  beneath  which  he  finds  a 
.'•hclter.  In  that  little  island,  thousands  of  peo 
ple  lie  down  every  night,  not  knowing  how  they 
may  obtain  the  bread  of  to-morrow.  Our  hap 
pier  country  is  the  asylum  to  which  multitudes 
of  those  are  flying,  who  can  find  the  means  of 
leaving  their  home  of  poverty  and  distress. 
They  are  wafted  to  our  shore*  by  every  breeze 
that  sweeps  the  Atlantic.  They  are  found  by 
thousands  in  our  larger  cities.  They  penetrate 
the  interior,  and  spreading  themselves  over  the 
whole  extent  of  our  vast  territory,  are  mingling 
largely  in  our  population.  They  are  deserving 
of  notice,  therefore,  not  only  on  account  of  their 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  13 

numbers,  but  from  the  consideration  that  in  a 
country  abounding  in  all  the  means  of  suste 
nance,  they  become  the  progenitors  of  a  vastly 
increasing  population.  Their  weight,  therefore, 
in  the  scale  of  society,  immediately  and  pro- 
spectively,  is  not  inconsiderable ;  and,  whether 
we  look  to  their  own  happiness,  or  their  influence 
upon  our  institutions,  they  may  fairly  claim  the 
careful  attention  of  every  intelligent  American 
citizen.  I  propose,  therefore,  to  present  to  your 
consideration  a  few  hints,  which  I  could  wish 
might  lead  to  thorough  investigation  of  Ireland 
and  the  Irish  people. 

Before  we  proceed  further,  it  may  be  well  to 
fix  distinctly  in  our  minds  a  picture  of  the  coun 
try  which  we  propose  to  discuss,  as  it  now  exists. 
I  have  already  said,  that  the  extent  of  Ireland 
is  hardly  equal  to  that  of  Maine,  while  its  popu 
lation  amounts  to  eight  millions.     Its  length  is 
three  hundred  miles ;  its  average  width  one  hun 
dred.     It  abounds  in  small  rivers  and  lakes,  and 
is    indented    by    numerous   bays   and   harbors. 
The  climate  is  exceedingly  mild  and  equable  for 
its  latitude,  and  the  soil  is  more  fertile  by  nature 
than  the  adjacent  island  of  Britain.     Its  turfy 
bogs  are  a  remarkable  feature  of  the  country, 
occupying   a   very   considerable   portion   of   its 
2 


14  ilLAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

surface.  Dublin,  the  metropolis,  has  about 
tuo  hundred  thousand  inhabitants.  It  is  a  city 
presenting  the  extremes  of  opulence  and  poverty. 
Some  of  its  streets  seem  like  ranges  of  palaces, 
while  its  suburbs  exhibit  hundreds  of  hovels 
swarming  with  men,  women,  and  children,  in  a 
state  of  want,  raggedncss,  and  degradation,  of 
which  nothing  but  the  spectacle  itself  can  fur 
nish  an  adequate  idea. 

Nearly  the  whole  soil  of  Ireland  belongs  to  a 
comparatively  few  proprietors,  most  of  whom 
live  out  of  the  country,  and  every  six  months,  in 
taking  away  their  rents,  sweep  the  land  of  its 
wealth.  To  aid  in  this  system  of  impoverish 
ment  and  depletion,  hundreds  of  the  clergy  be 
longing  to  the  established  English  church,  re- 
ceive  large  salaries  wrung  from  the  people  in 
the  shape  of  tithes. 

A  very  large  portion  of  the  people  of  Ireland 
are  laborers,  living  day  by  day  upon  the  imme 
diate  produce  of  their  toil.  Millions  are  re 
duced  to  a  perpetual  experiment  to  discover  the 
least  possible  quantity  of  food,  shelter,  and  clo 
thing,  consistent  with  a  preservation  of  the  spark 
of  life.  In  attempting  to  solve  this  nice  and  crit 
ical  problem,  thousands  die  annually,  for  the 
want  of  the  necessaries  of  existence. 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  15 


. 


Such  is  the  state  of  Ireland  at  the  present  day; 
and  such,  in  the  main,  has  it  been  for  a  century. 
Let  us  now  glance  at  its  early  history.  We 
must  begin  by  remarking  that  few  subjects  have 
given  rise  to  more  bitter  controversy  than  this. 
While,  on  the  one  hand,  absurd  pretences  to  an 
tiquity  and  ancient  civilization  have  been  set  up, 
on  the  other,  indisputable  facts  and  legitimate 
inferences  have  been  denied,  till  the  field  of  his 
tory  is  narrowed  down  to  a  barren  point.  Re 
jecting  extremes,  that,  on  the  one  hand,  reveal  to 
us  long  races  of  kings  and  princes  reaching  back 
to  the  flood,  and,  on  the  other,  even  deny  that 
such  a  person  as  St.  Patrick  ever  existed,  we 
choose  the  middle  course.  We  may  at  least 
start  with  a  proposition  universally  admitted, 
which  is,  that  the  first  inhabitants  of  Ireland 
were  derived  from  the  same  stock  that  supplied 
Spain,  Britain,  and  Gaul,  with  their  original 
population.  Their  language,  and  the  numerous 
monuments  that  yet  remain  of  that  superstition 
which  the  first  tribes  that  poured  from  Asia  into 
Europe  carried  with  them  wherever  they  went, 
sufficiently  attest  the  Celtic  origin  of  the  Irish 
people. 

It  appears  that  the  Phoenicians,  who  were  the 
Yankees  of  the  early  ages,  had  carried  their 


1C  IKELAND  AND  T»>:  IKISH. 

commerce  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  or  the 
its  of  Gibraltar,  as  early  as  the  time  of  Solo 
moii.     It  was  a  part  of  their  policy  to  keep  the 
sources  of  their  wealth  secret;  but,  even  in  the 
time  of  lloincr,  a  glimmering  notion  of  the  At 
lantic,  and  the  islands  that  studded  the  borders 
of   the    continent,   had   been   imparted  to  the 
Greeks.     The  poet  caught  up  and  embellished 
the  tales  of  the  Phoenician  voyagers,  and  placed 
in  these  islands  the  abodes  of  the  pious  and  the 
Elysian  fields  of  the  blest.     Hence  all  those 
popular   traditions,  among  the  Greeks,   of  the 
Fortunate    Islands,   the    Hesperides,    and    the 
Isle  of  Calypso  —  "  creations  called  up  in  these 
unpathed  waters,"   and  adopted  into  the  poetry 
of  the  Greeks,  before  any  clear  notion  of  the 
reality  had  reached  them.     In  the  Argonautics, 
t  poem  written  five  hundred  years  before  the 
Christian  era,  Ireland  is  mentioned  without  any 
rcnce  to  Britain.     About  two  centuries  after, 
iwo  islands  are  mentioned  by  a  Greek  wri 
ter,  under  their  old  Celtic  names  of  Albion  and 
ne.     It  was  not  till  about  this  period,  that 
Greeks  made  voyages  to  the  British  islands, 
though  the  Phoenicians  had  traded  to  them  for 
many  centuries,  and  carried  thence  large  quanti 
ties  of  tin ;  from  which  circumstance  they  wero 


IUELAND     AND     THE    IRISH.  17 

called  the  Tin  Isles.  That  they  had  a  factory 
there,  for  the  working  of  tin  at  a  very  early  date, 
is  generally  conceded. 

It  appears  from  the  poems  of  Avienus,  who, 
in  the  fourth  century,  had  access  to  some  Punic 
records  in  one  of  the  temples  of  Carthage,  that  a 
Carthaginian,  named  Milcho,  made  an  expedition 
to  Ireland  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  years 
Before  Christ,  and  on  his  return  gave  a  particu 
lar  account  of  the  country.  In  this  he  speaks 
of  the  commerce  carried  on  by  the  Carthaginian 
colonists  at  Gades,  now  Cadiz,  with  the  Tin 
Isles,  and  remarks  that  the  husbandmen  of  Car 
thage,  as  well  as  "her  common  people,  were  ac 
customed  to  visit  them.  It  is  to  be  remarked 
that  he  speaks  more  particularly  of  Ireland  than 
of  Britain.  '  He  describes  the  hide-covered  boats, 
or  cnrracks,  in  which  the  inhabitants  of  the 
islands  navigated  their  seas  ;  of  the  populousness 
of  the  isle  of  the  Hyberni,  and  the  turfy  nature 
of  its  soil. 

By  collecting  such  scattered  testimonials  as 
these,  from  ancient  writers,  though  we  can  by 
no  means  adopt  the  fanciful  theories  of  cer 
tain  Irish  historians,  we  may  conclude,  that, 
while  the  first  population  consisted  of  Celts, 
the  Phoenicians  had  established  colonies  in  the 

island,  or  at  least  had  commercial  intercourse 
2* 


IRELAND  AND  THE  WISH. 


with  the  people,  several  centuries  before  the 
Chri.-ti.m  era,  and  that  the  Phccnician  priests  had 
introduced  their  religious  rites  and  ceremonies- 
into  the  countrj.  This  view  of  an  early  con 
nection  with  Eastern  countries,  and  the  early 
infusion  of  Eastern  manners  and  customs  among 
the  people,  appears  to  be  sanctioned  by  the  tradi 
tions  of  Ireland  herself,  by  numerous  monu 
ments,  the  names  of  her  promontories,  and  her 
old  usages  and  rites,  all  bearing  indelibly  the 
same  Oriental  stamp. 

While  some  of  the  religious  rites  of  the  an 
cient  Irish  seem  to  have  been  of  Celtic  origin, 
and  while  some  are  traceable  to  the  Phoenician*, 
there  are  others  still,  which  ore  referable  to  the 
Persians,  with  whom  the  Phrcnic.ians  are  known 
to  have  had  frequent  intercourse.  All  these 
several  superstitions  appear  to  have  been  mixed 
up  in  the  ancient  In-li  worship.  Thus  the  sun, 
moon,  fire,  and  water,  were  objects  of  adora 
tion.  The  veneration  of  particular  groves  and 
trees  was  common,  as  well  as  the  worship  of 
Atones  and  fountains.  They  had  sacred  hills,  or 
tumuli,  for  sacrifice.  The  round  towers,  of 
which  there  are  now  about  fifty,  and  which  form 
a  remarkable  and  peculiar  feature  of  Irish  antiqui 
ties,  are  supposed  to  have  been  connected  with 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  19 

fire  worship,  and  may  perhaps  have  been  used 
for  preserving  the  sacred  fire.  The  cromlechs,  of 
which  there  are  still  many  vestiges,  appear  to 
have  been  places  of  sepulture.  All  these  re 
mains,  scattered  over  Ireland,  bear  testimony  to 
the  high  antiquity  of  the  Irish  people,  and  their 
intimacy  with  Eastern  nations  at  a  very  early 
period. 

Of  the  Druidism  of  Ireland,  it  may  be  re 
marked  that  it  differed  considerably  from  that 
of  Britain  and  Gaul;  and  it  has  been  conjec 
tured  that  Ireland  may  have  been  the  country 
whence  this  ancient  superstition  was  transmitted 
to  the  neighboring  countries  of  Europe.  It  has 
been  deemed  probable  that  it  was,  in  fact,  com 
pounded  from  the  several  heathen  rites  that  were 
brought  together  in  that  island.  However  this 
may  be,  there  are  still  to  be  found  in  different 
parts  of  Ireland,  among  the  manners,  customs, 
and  opinions  of  the  people,  the  traces  of  all  the 
various  ancient  superstitions  to  which  we  have 
alluded.  These  seem  to  cling  to  the  people  with 
unyielding  pertinacity,  and  even  engraft  them 
selves,  down  to  the  present  day,  upon  the  rites 
and  ceremonies  of  the  Christian  religion. 

Thus  far  we  have  drawn  our  proofs  of  the 
antiquity  of  the  Irish  nation  from  the  scattered 


20  IRELAND  AND  THE 


records  of  ancient  Greek  and  Roman  writers, 
and  from  the  indisputable  testimony  of  monu 
ments,  language,  and  manners.  These  afford, 
indeed,  but  glimpses  of  the  nation  in  remote 
ages  :  while  they  assure  us  of  a  few  leading 
facts,  they  still  leave  us  in  ignorance  or  doubt  as 
to  details,  save  such  as  can  be  supplied  by  le 
gitimate  inference. 

The  next  sources  of  Irish  history  are  to  be 
found  in  the  legends  of  the  bards  and  the  rec 
ords  of  the  annalists.  The  first  of  these  por 
tray  to  us,  in  shadowy  but  poetic  outline,  the 
brilliant  deeds  and  barbaric  glory  of  kings  and 
heroes  even  more  ancient  than  Romulus  or 
Remus.  However  rich  as  sources  of  p« 
inspiration  to  the  Irish  harper  these  rtiay  have 
been  in  former  times,  and  however  they  may 
still  linger  as  fond  realities  in  the  fancy  of  the 
modern  I  lilxTiiian,  still  their  extravagance  and 
obscnrity  must  exclude  them  from  cautious  and 
•ober  history. 

The  Irish  annals  are  worthy  of  higher  con 
sideration,  and,  after  much  controversy,  have 
been  pflBptd  to  take  their  rank  among  au 
thentic  historical  documents.  The  annals  of 
Tigemach  are  reputed  to  be  most  worthy  of 
credit  This  annalist  admits  that  the  records 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  21 

of  Ireland  are  fabulous  or  uncertain,  previous  to 
the  reign  of  Kimboath,  two  centuries  before  the 
Christian  era.  From  that  time,  a  regular  succes 
sion  of  princes,  down  to  a  comparatively  modern 
date,  is  furnished.  Other  events  are  also  re 
corded,  throwing  some  light  upon  the  state  of 
the  country,  and  showing,  at  a  very  early  period, 
a  progress  in  civilization  beyond  most  of  the 
Celtic  or  Teutonic  nations,  which,  like  Ireland, 
borrowed  no  light  from  Roman  civilization. 

In  respect  to  the  confidence  to  be  reposed  in 
the  Irish  annals,  it  may  be  proper  to  make  a  few 
observations.  It  appears  to  have  been  among 
the  most  solemn  of  the  customs  observed  in 
Ireland,  even  in  the  earliest  times,  to  keep  in 
each  of  the  provinces,  as  well  as  the  seat  of  the 
monarchical  government,  a  public  Psalter  or 
register,  in  which  all  passing  transactions  of 
interest  were  noted  down.  This,  like  all  the 
other  ancient  observances,  continued  to  be  re 
tained  after  the  introduction  of  Christianity. 
To  the  great  monasteries  all  over  the  country 
fell  the  task  of  watching  over  and  continuing 
these  records.  It  is  from  the  materials  thus 

* 

transmitted,  that  the  Irish  annals,  to  which  I 
have  referred,  were  made  out,  about  the  period 
of  the  twelfth  century. 


22  ERELAXP  AXD  THE  IRISH. 

The  precision  with  which  the  annalists  hare 
recorded  events,  and  the  general  truth  of 
these  records  when  they  speak  of  definite  facts, 
is  susceptible  of  strong  confirmation.  They 
state,  for  instance,  that  about  the  tenth  hour  of 
th<  third  of  May,  6o4,  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  oc 
curred.  Now,  it  is  obvious  that  nothing  hut 
an  observation  of  the  fact  could  hare  enabled 
the  annalist  to  moke  this  record ;  for,  even  down 
to  a  late  date,  the  knowledge  of  astronomy  was 
so  imperfect,  that  the  precise  hour  <>f  an 
so  long  passed  could  not  have  been  determined. 
Tin;  Venerable  Bode  attempted  to  calculate  tin- 
period  of  the  panic  eclipse,  and,  led  astray  by 
his  ignorance  of  a  yet  undetected  error  of  tin 
Dionysian  cycle,  by  which  the  equations  of 
sun  and  moon  were  affected,  declared  that  the 
annalist  was  .mistaken.  This  circumstance,  for 
a  time,  threw  great  t  upon  these  records ; 

but,  at  length,  a  more  perfect  knowledgaff  his 
science  has  enabled  the  astronomer  to  calculate 
past  eclipses  with  certainty ;  and  it  is  now  found, 
by  such  calculations,  that,  during  the  year,  the 
day,  and  the  hour  stated  hy  the  annalist,  an 
edipse  of  the  sun  actually  occurred. 

la  addition  to  this  evidence,  I  need  hut  <(iiote 
one  authority,  which  will  be  sufficient  to  satisfy 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  23 


every  mind,  in  relation  to  these  annals.  "  The 
chronicles  of  Ireland,"  says  Sir  James  Mackin 
tosh,  "  written  in  the  Irish  language,  from  the 
second  century  to  the  landing  of  Henry  Plan- 
tagenet,  have  been  recently  published,  with 
the  fullest  evidences  of  their  genuineness  and 
exactness.  The  Irish  nation,  though  they  are 
robbed  of  many  of  their  legends  by  this  au 
thentic  publication,  are  yet  by  it  enabled  to 
boast  that  they  possess  genuine  history  several 
centuries  more  ancient  than  any  other  European 
nation  possesses  in  its  present  spoken  language. 
They  have  exchanged  their  legendary  anti 
quity  for  historical  fame.  Indeed,  no  other 
nation  possesses  any  monument  of  literature, 
in  its  present  spoken  language,  which  goes  back 
within  several  centuries  of  the  beginning  of 
these  chronicles." 

It  is  my  purpose,  hereafter,  to  give  an  outline 
of  the  early  authentic  history  of  Ireland.  I 
have  yet  been  speaking  only  of  that  portion  of 
it  which  precedes  even  the  beginning  of  what 
has  been  regarded  as  the  regular  commencement 
of  Irish  history.  But  I  wish  now  to  present 
distinctly  to  the  notice  of  the  reader  the  an 
tiquity  of  the  Irish  nation,  in  connection  with 
another  fact,  —  that  the  Irish  people  are,  at  the 


24  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

nt  day,  a  nation  of  Celts,  and  use  as  their 
mother  tongue  the  language  of  those  most  an 
cient  of  all  European  settlers.  I  present  to 
your  consideration  the  circumstance,  that  here 
in  this  little  island,  and  here  alone,  is  a  sample 
of  that  mighty  outpouring  of  nations,  which 
first  broke  across  the  Uralian  Mountains  nearly 
four  thousand  years  ago,  and  continued  for  ages, 
like  successive  eruptions  of  volcanic  lava,  to 
overspread  the  north  of  Europe.  I  present  to 
your  consideration  the  fact,  that,  at  the  present 
day,  you  see  in  the  Irish,  as  it  were,  a  colony 
of  those  ancient  Celts,  transferred  from  an 
tiquity  into  our  iinmnli ate  presence,  with  the 
same  blood  beating  in  their  veins,  with  the  same 
physical  characteristics,  and  speaking  essentially 
the  same  language,  as  those  who  existed  even 
before  the  time  of  Solomon. 

I  know  not  how  it  may  strike  others,  but  to 
me  this  subject  is  full  of  int<  -rest  How  is  it 
to  be  accounted  for,  that,  of  all  the  numberless 
millions  that  must  have  passed  from  Asia  into 
Europe,  under  the  general  name  of  Celts,  every 
where  but  in  Ireland  they  should  have  been 
supplanted  by  other  tri!>< •-.  their  national  ex 
istence  obliterated,  and  their  language  forever 
blotted  out  ?  Can  this  problem  be  solved  by  the 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  25 

geographical  position  of  Ireland,  by  the  course 
of  political  events,  or  by  any  or  all  of  those 
circumstances  which  are  commonly  supposed  to 
control  the  destiny  of  nations?  These,  doubt 
less,  have  had  their  influence;  but  I  believe  it 
would  be  impossible  to  solve  the  query  I  have 
suggested,  but  upon  the  supposition  of  a  native 
vigor  of  character  in  the  Irish,  as  well  physical 
as  moral,  which  perpetuates  itself  from  age  to 
age,  resisting  and  overcoming  the  crumbling  in 
fluences  of  time  and  change.  And  if  this  be 
true,  does  it  not  imply  something  of  greatness 
in  the  native  Irish  stock;  something  distinct, 
peculiar,  and  worthy  of  our  respect,  in  the  Irish 
people  ?  It  may  be  chimerical,  but  I  confess  that, 
for  myself,  I  cannot  look  upon  even  the  rudest 
specimen  of  these  people  that  we  see  among  us, 
but  as  associated  with  these  views.  Ignorant 
and  unlettered  they  certainly  are;  superstitious 
and  degraded  they  may  be;  but  I  can  never 
bring  myself  to  look  upon  them  either  with 
indifference  or  contempt.  I  must  ever  regard 
them  as  allied  to  the  memory  of  ancient  days;  as 
bringing  antiquity,  living  and  breathing,  into  our 
presence;  and,  above  all,  however  shadowed  by 
the  degradation  which  is  entailed  by  slavery,  as 
3 


\ 


26  mELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

possessing,  in  common  with  their  nation,  the 
inherent  elements  of  greatness. 

The  vanity  of  nations,  as  well  as  of  individ 
uals,  leads  them  to  set  up  pretences  to  high 
antiquity  of  origin.  Thus  the  Chaldeans  traced 
back  their  history  for  a  space  of  four  hundred 
and  seventy  thousand  years ;  and  the  Egyptians 
were  scarcely  less  moderate  in  their  claims. 
It  is  a  good  evidence  of  the  credulity  which 
this  species  of  pride  inspires,  that  the  faith  of 
the  latter  people  in  their  fabulous  chronology 
was  not  disturbed  by  a  chasm  of  eleven  thousand 
three  hundred  and  forty  years,  which  occurs  be 
tween  two  of  their  kings,  Mcnes  and  Scthon. 

If  the  bardic  historians  of  Ireland  have  been 
a  little  less  extravagant  in  their  pretences,  it 
is  because  their  stories  were  fabricated  at  a 
later  date,  and  after  the  Bible  had  been  intro 
duced  among  them.  They  therefore  commence 
thrir  story  but  a  few  weeks  before  the  flood, 
when,  agreeably  to  their  legends,  Cesar  a,  a  niece 
of  Noah,  arrived  with  a  colony  of  antediluvians 
upon  the  Irish  coast  These  were,  at  different 
«,  followed  by  other  bands;  and,  in  the 
th  century  after  the  flood,  Ireland  was  in 
vaded  and  taken  possession  of  by  Partholen,  t 
descendant  of  Japlx  t. 


IRELAND    AND     THE     IRISH.  27 

After  holding  the  country  for  three  hundred 
years,  the  race  of  Partholen  was  swept  away  by 
a  plague;  and,  in  the  time  of  Jacob,  another 
colony,  led  by  Nemedius,  took  possession  of  the 
country.  The  wars  that  these  settlers  waged 
with  the  Fomorians,  an  African  tribe  of  sea- 
rovers,  form  one  of  the  favorite  themes  of  the 
ancient  Irish  muse. 

The  next,  and,  in  number,  the  third  of  these 
colonies,  were  Belgians,  and  known  under  the 
name  of  Fir-Bolgs ;  these  subjected  the  country 
to  the  yoke  of  regal  authority,  and  divided  it  into 
five  kingdoms  —  a  form  of  government  which 
existed  till  the  twelfth  century  of  the  Christian 
era.  The  dynasty  of  the  Fir-Bolgs  was,  how 
ever,  soon  disturbed  by  the  Tuatha  de  Danaan  — 
a  people  famed  for  necromancy  which  they  had 
learned  in  Greece.  Aided  by  the  Stone  of  Des 
tiny,  the  Sorcerer's  Spear,  and  the  Magic  Cal 
dron,  which  they  obtained  in  Denmark  and 
Norway,  and  led  by  Nuad  of  the  Silver  Hand, 
the  Danaans  landed  upon  the  island  under 
cover  of  a  mist,  and  penetrated  into  the  coun 
try  before  they  were  discovered.  The  alarmed 
inhabitants  retreated  before  them  into  Con- 
naught,  when  at  Moytura,  on  the  borders  of 
Lake  Masg,  that  bloody  conflict  took  place, 


28  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

which  is  called  the  Battle  of  the  Field  of  the 
Tower,  and  which  was  long  a  favorite  theme 
of  Irish  song.  Having  driven  their  opposefs  to 
the  Isle  of  Man,  North  Aran,  and  the  Heb 
rides,  the  victorious  Danaans  became  sole  mas 
ters  of  the  country.  But  they  in  turn  \vrr<- 
dispossessed  of  their  sway  by  the  Scotic  or  Mi 
lesian  colony,  which  through  so  long  a  scries  of 
ages  furnished  Ireland  with  her  kings. 

This  celebrated  colony,  though  coming  direct 
ly  from  Spain,  was  originally,  we  arc  told,  of  the 
Scythic  race;  and  its  various  migrations  and 
adventures  before  reaching  its  "  Isle  of  Des 
tiny"  in  the  west,  are  detailed  by  the  bard?, 
with  all  that  fond  and  lingering  minutcix  >s  in 
which  fancy,  playing  with  its  own  creations,  so 
much  delights  to  indulge.  Grading  upon  thi* 
Scythic  colony  the  traditional  traces  and  stories 
of  their  country  respecting  the  Phoenicians,  they 
have  contrived  to  collect  together,  without  much 
regard  to  either  chronology,  history,  or  geogra 
phy,  every  circumstance  that  could  tend  to  dig 
nify  and  add  lustre  to  such  an  event  —  an  event 
upon  which  not  only  the  rank  of  their  country 
itself,  in  the  heraldry  of  nations,  depended,  but 
in  which  every  individual,  entitled  by  his  Mile 
sian  blood  to  lay  claim  to  a  share  in  so  glorious 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  29 

a  pedigree,  was  imagined  to  be  interested.  In 
order  more  completely  to  identify  the  ancestors 
of  these  Scythic  colonists  with  the  Phoenicians, 
the  bards  relate  that  by  ono  of  them,  named 
Fenius,  to  whom  the  invention  of  the  Ogham 
character  is  attributed,  an  academy  for  lan 
guages  was  instituted  upon  the  Plain  of  Shi- 
nriar,  in  which  that  purest  dialect  of  the  Irish, 
called  the  Bearla  Fcini,  was  cultivated. 

From  thence,  tracing  this  chosen  race  in 
their  migrations  to  different  countries,  and 
connecting  them,  by  marriage  or  friendship,  dur 
ing  their  long  sojourn  in  Egypt,  with  most  of 
the  heroes  of  Scripture  history,  the  bards  con 
duct  them  at  length,  by  a  route  not  very  intelli 
gible,  to  Spain.  There,  by  their  valor  and  en 
terprise,  they  succeed  in  liberating  the  country 
from  its  Gothic  invaders,  and,  in  a  short  time, 
make  themselves  masters  of  the  whole  king 
dom.  Still  haunted,  however,  in  the  midst 
of  their  glory,  by  the  remembrance  of  a  proph 
ecy  which  had  declared  that  "  an  island  in  the 
Western  Sea  was  to  be  their  ultimate  place 
of  rest,"  the  two  sons  of  their  great  leader, 
Milesius,  at  length  fitted  out  a  grand  martin! 

^edition,  and  set  sail,  in  thirty  ships,  from  the 
coast   of  Gallicia,   for   Ireland.     According   to 
3* 


30  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

the  bardic  chronology,  thirteen  hundred  years 
before  the  birth  of  Christ,  but  according  to 
Nennius  Aengus  and  others,  near  five  centu 
ries  later,  this  "  lettered  and  martial  colony 
arrived,  under  the  command  of  the  sons  of 
Milesius,  on  the  Irish  coasts;  and,  having  ef 
fected  a  landing  at  Inbher  Sccine,  the  present 
Bantry  Bay — on  Thursday,  the  first  of  May, 
A.  M  ~'.i  >1,  achieved  that  great  and  memorable 
victory  over  the  Tuatha  de  Danaan,  which  se 
cured  to  themselves  and  their  princely  descend 
ants,  for  more  than  two  thousand  years,  the 
supreme  dominion  over  all  Ireland." 

Such  is  a  very  brief  outline  of  the  early  his- 
tory  of  Ireland,  as  furnished  by  the  bards.  It 
would,  perhaps,  be  equally  unwise  wholly  to 
adopt  <>r  rrjrrt  their  story.  It  is  as  probable 
tk.it  there  is  some  foundation,  in  reality,  for 
most  of  these  events,  as  it  is  that  the  Grecian 
talc-  of  Urn-ill.-.*  anil  Tli.-M-ns  li.nl  ihnr  ..n-in 
B  truth,  r.ui  it  is  impossible  to  separate  the  fab 
ulous  from  the  historical;  and  we  are  therefore 
compelled  to  leave  the  subject  in  one  of  those 
happy  mists,  in  which  antiquarians  may  con 
tinue  to  fight  their  bloodless  battles. 

Although  the  Milesian   colony  is  embraced 
in  the  bardic  fables,  it  seems  properly  to  come 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  31 

within  the  scope  of  veritable  history.  We  do 
not,  indeed,  adopt  even  the  chronology  of  the 
sanguine  Irish  historians  of  modern  date.  Dr. 
O'Connor,  who  has  bestowed  vast  learning  upon 
the  subject,  considers  Kimboath  the  fifty-sixth 
king  of  the  Milesian  line,  and  carries  his  reign 
back  to  a  period  at  least  two  centuries  before 
Christ. 

Leaving  the  date  as  a  matter  of  entire  un 
certainty,  we  may  proceed  to  some  details 
respecting  the  Scotic  or  Milesian  dynasty.  It 
seems  that  the  tribe  came  to  Ireland  under 
the  two  sons  of  Milesius,  Heber  and  Heremon. 
They  divided  the  country  between  them,  con 
stituting  their  brother  Amergin,  arch  bard,  or 
presiding'  minister,  over  the  departments  of 
law,  poetry,  and  religion. 

The  two  kings  Heber  and  Heremon  soon 
quarrelled  for  the  possession  of  a  beautiful 
valley,  and  Heber  was  slain,  his  brother  now 
becoming  sole  sovereign  of  the  island.  Pass 
ing  over  the  immediate  successors  of  He 
remon,  we  may  notice  Tighernmas,  who  was 
miraculously  destroyed,  with  a  vast  multitude 
around  him,  for  offering  sacrifice  to  the  idol 
Crom  Cruach.  Achy,  his  successor,  passed  an 
edict,  regulating  the  exact  colors  of  the  gar- 


32  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

ments  the  different  classes  of  people  should 
wear.  Ollam  Foodhla,  the  royal  sage,  as  he 
is  called,  instituted  the  triennial  convention  at 
Tarn,  in  which  there  seemed  an  approach  to 
representative  government,  the  leading  persons 
of  the  three  orders,  the  king,  the  Druids  or 
priests,  and  the  plebeians,  being  convened  for 
the  making  such  laws  as  the  public  good  re- 
<]uimi.  In  the  presence  of  these  assemblies, 
the  events  to  be  entered  on  the  public  Psnlu-r 
or  record,  kept  at  Tara,  were  examined  and 
prepared. 

The  space  between  Ollam  Foodhla  and  IIu- 
gony  the  Great,  the  royal  builder  of  the  famous 
palace  of  Emania,  is  filled  up  by  the  bards  \\nli 
thirty-two  kings,  oil  of  whom  died  by  violence 
except  three.  In  the  reign  of  Conary  the  Great, 
which  coincides  with  the  beginning  of  the  Chris 
tian  era,  the  young  hero  Cuchullin  was  slain  in 
full  Hush  of  his  glorious  career.  With  tin- 
fame  of  this  Irish  warrior  most  readers  have  been 
made  acquainted,  by  the  poems  of  Mnrpherson, 
attrilmtcd  to  Ossian.  Titathal  the  Acceptable, 
after  having  been  compelled  to  fly  his  kingdom, 
was  restored  alxiut  the  year  130,  and  intro 
duced  various  improvements  in  the  laws 
institutions  of  the  country.  Fcidlim  the  Legis- 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  33 

lator,  and  Con  of  the  Hundred  Battles,  inter 
vened  between  Tuathal  and  Cormac  Ulfadha, 
who  is  said  to  have  founded  three  academies 
at  Tara,  to  have  revised  the  Psalter  from  the 
time  of  Ollam  Foodhla,  and,  having  lost  an  eye 
in  repelling  an  attack  upon  his  palace,  resigned 
his  crown,  in  obedience  to  a  law  which  ex 
cluded  any  one  marked  with  a  personal  blem 
ish  from  the  throne.  Having  retired  to  a 
thatched  cabin,  at  Kells,  this  king  devoted  him 
self  to  the  writing  of  books,  one  of  which, 
"  The  Advice  to  a  King,"  was  said  to  be  extant 
in  the  seventeenth  century. 

A  long  space  now  occurs,  in  which  there  is 
little  of  interest.  Succeeding  to  the  usurper 
Colla,  Nial  of  the  Nine  Hostages  made  a  formi 
dable  invasion  of  Britain,  in  the  fourth  century, 
and  afterwards  extended  his  enterprises  to  the 
coast  of  Gaul,  where  he  was  assassinated  by  one 
of  his  followers,  with  a  poisoned  arrow.  It  was 
in  the  course  of  this  expedition  that  the  soldiers 
of  Nial  carried  off  a  youth  destined  to  work  a 
great  revolution  in  Ireland. 

Such,  from  the  period  of  Kimboath,  is  the 
semi-authentic  history  of  Ireland,  based  upon 
the  annalists,  catching,  however,  an  occasional 
ray  of  light  from  the  bardic  legends.  If  it 


34  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

cannot  be  set  down  as  entirely  worthy  of  our 
confidence,  we  may  at  least  rest  in  the  belief 
that,  in  its  general  outline,  and  doubtless  in  its 
prominent  characters,  it  affords  a  general  repre 
sentation  of  truth. 

Succeeding  to  Nial  of  the  Nine  Hostages, 
Dnthy,  the  last  of  the  pagnn  kings  of  Ireland, 
like  his  predecessor,  ravaged  the  coast  of  Gaul, 
and,  making  his  way  to  the  foot  of  the  Alps,  was 
there  slain  by  a  flash  of  lightning.  Leogairc, 
who  reigned  at  the  time  of  St.  Patrick's  mission, 
was.  killed  by  the  sun  and  wind,  for  violating 
an  oath. 

The  authentic  history  of  Ireland  properly 
begins  with  St.  Patrick,  in  the  fifth  century. 
The  name  of  this  Christian  apostle  has  been 
so  often  connected  \vith  incredible  tales  and 
•culous  legends,  that  it  is  apt  to  excite  ridi 
cule  in  the  minds  of  many  persons.  But  ira 
examination  of  his  true  history  will  lead  every 
fair-minded  incimdiril  to  a  very  different  e»- 
tiinate  of  his  character.  St  Patrick  appears 
to  have  been  a  native  of  Boulogne,  in  France, 
and  to  have  been  born  about  the  year  387 
A.  D.  In  his  sixteenth  year,  be  was  made 
captive,  as  before  intimated,  in  a  marauding 
expedition,  conducted  by  Nial  of  the  Nine 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  35 

Hostages.  Being  carried  to  Ireland,  he  was 
sold  as  a  slave  to  a  man  named  Milcho,  living 
in  what  is  now  called  the  county  of  Antrim. 
The  occupation  assigned  him  was  the  tending 
of  sheep.  His  lonely  rambles  over  the  moun- ' 
tain  and  the  "forest  are  described  by  himself 
as  having  been  devoted  to  constant  prayer,  to 
thought,  and  to  the  nursing  of  those  deep  devo 
tional  feelings,  which,  even  at  that  time,  he  felt 
strongly  stirring  within  him.  At  length,  after 
six  years  of  servitude,  the  desire  of  escaping 
from  bondage  arose  in  his  heart.  "  A  voice  iu 
his  dreams,"  he  says,  "  told  him  that  he  was 
*  soon  to  go  to  his  own  country,  and  that  a  ship 
was  ready  to  convey  him  thither."  Accordingly, 
in  the  seventh  year  of  his  slavery,  he  betook 
himself  to  flight,  and,  making  his  way  to  the 
south-western  coast  of  Ireland,  was  there  re 
ceived  on  board  a  merchant  vessel,  which  after 
a  voyage  of  three  days  landed  him  on  the  coast 
of  Gaul.  He  now  returned  to  his  parents,  and, 
after  spending  some  time  with  them,  devoted 
himself  to  study  in  the  celebrated  monastery  of 
St.  Martin  at  Tours.  During  this  period,  it 
would  appear  that  his  mind  still  dwelt  with  fond 
recollection  upon  Ireland ;  for  he  had  a  remark 
able  dream,  which,  in  those  superstitious  ages, 


30  IRELAND  AND  THE  IUISH, 

was  regarded  by  him  as  a  vision  from  Heaven. 
In  this  he  seemed  to  receive  innumerable  lei 
from  Ireland,  in  one  of  which  was  written, 
"The  voice  of  the  Irish."  In  these  natural 
workings  of  a  warm  and  pious  imagination,  so 
unlike  the  prodigies  and  miracles  with  which 
most  of  the  legends  of  his  life  abound,  we  see 
what  a  hold  the  remembrance  of  Ireland  had 
taken  of  his  youthful  fancy,  and  how  fondly  he 
already  contemplated  some  holy  work  in  her 
service. 

Having  left  the  seminary  at  Tours,  he  spent 
several  years  in  travelling,  study,  and  medita 
tion  ;  but  at  length,  being  constituted  a  bishop, 
and  having,  at  his  own  request,  been  appointed 
by  the  see  of  Rome  to  that  service,  he  pro- 

• 

ceeded   on    his    long-contemplated    mission  to 
Ireland. 

Let  us  pause  a  moment  to  consider  the  state 
of  Ireland  at  this  period,  that  we  may  duly  es 
timate  the  task  which  lay  before  this  apostle,  and 
which  we  shall  find  he  gloriously  accomplished. 
The  neighboring  island  of  Britain,  it  will  be 
remembered,  was  still  under  the  Roman  yoke; 
but,  as  before  remarked,  no  Roman  soldier 
had  ventured  to  cross  the  narrow  channel  be 
tween  Britain  and  Ireland  and  set  his  foot  upon 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  37 

Irish  soil.  To  Ireland,  then,  Rome  had  im 
parted  none  of  her  civilization.  The  country 
was  in  fact  in  a  state  of  barbarism ;  the  govern 
ment  was  the  same  as  that  which  had  been 
handed  down  for  centuries,  and  which  continued 
for  ages  after.  The  country  was  divided  into 
fire  principal  kingdoms,  whose  chiefs  acknowl 
edged  a  nominal  allegiance  to  one  chief  sove 
reign  who  was  monarch  of  the  realm.  But  there 
were  still  a  great  number  of  petty  chiefs,  also 
claiming  the  title  of  kings,  and  often  setting  up 
for  independence,  or  disputing  the  authority  of 
their  accustomed  masters.  The  wrangles  be 
tween  these  rival  powers  were  savage  and  in 
cessant;  and  the  people  were  therefore  em 
broiled  in  almost  constant  war.  Among  the 
rapid  succession  of  princes,  history  tells  us  of 
but  few  that  did  not  die  by  violence.  In  some 
of  the  dynasties,  whole  centuries  pass,  affording 
but  a  ghastly  record  of  murdering  and  murdered 
chiefs.  In  such  a  state  of  things,  it  is  obvious 
that  there  could  be  little  progress  in  the  arts  of 
peace,  or  in  that  culture  which  proceeds  from 
the  diffusion  of  intellectual  light.  A  knowledge 
of  letters,  indeed,  is  said  to  have  existed  in  the 
country,  and  there  was,  no  doubt,  much  mystical 
lore  among  the  Druidical  priesthood,  who,  at  this 
4 


39  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

dark  period  of  society,  appear  to  have  led  both 
prince  and  people,  as  their  cheated  and  deluded 
captives,  whithersoever  they  pleased.  The  do 
minion,  indeed,  of  these  artful  priests  over  the 
mind  of  the  nation  seems  to  have  been  absolute, 
and  they  exerted  it  with  unsparing  rigor.  The 
whole  people  were  subjected  to  an  oppressive  rom- 
tinc  of  rites  and  ceremonies,  among  which  the 
sacrifice  of  human  victims  —  men,  women,  and 
children  —  was  common.  Tlio  details  of  these 
shocking  superstitions  are  indeed  too  frightful  to 
be  repeated  here.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the 
mission  of  St.  Patrick  contemplated  the  conver 
sion  of  a  nation,  wedded  to  these  unholy  rites, 
to  the  pure  and  peaceful  doctrines  of  the  go- 
He  came  alone,  armed  with  no  earthly  po\\<  r, 
arrayed  in  no  visible  pomp,  to  overturn  the 
cherished  dynasty  of  ages;  to  beat  down  a  for 
midable  priesthood;  to  slay  the  many-headed 
monster,  prejudice;  to  draw  aside  the  thick 
cloud  which  overspread  a  nation,  and  permit  the 
ight  of  Heaven  to  shine  upon  it. 

There  was  something  in  the  very  concep 
tion  of  thin  noble  enterprise  which  marks  St. 
Patrick  as  endowed  with  the  true  spirit  of  an 
apostle.  We  cannot  follow  him  through  the 
details  of  his  mission.  It  is  sufficient  to  say 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  39 

• 

that,  exercising  no  power  but  persuasion,  and 
using  no  weapon  but  truth,  he  proceeded  from 
place  to  place,  reasoning  with  the  people,  com 
bating  the  Druid,  and  preaching  to  the  prince. 
It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  he  is 
said  to  have  illustrated  the  doctrine  of  the 
Trinity,  by  stooping  to  the  ground,  and  pluck 
ing  a  branch  of  trefoil,  or  three-leaved  clover  — 
maintaining  that  the  three  leaves  upon  one 
stem,  displayed,  in  nature,  a  trinity  combined 
with  unity,  which  might  fitly  represent  the  Tri 
une  Deity,  whom  he  preached.  Thus,  by  his 
zeal  and  address,  in  the  brief  space  of  thirty 
years,  St.  Patrick  introduced  Christianity  into 
every  province  in  the  land,  and  that  without 
one  drop  of  bloodshed.  Every  where  the 
frowning  altars  of  the  Druids  fell  before  him ; 
the  superstitious  prince  did  homage  to  the 
cross,  and  the  proud  priest  of  the  sun  bent 
his  knee  to  the  true  God.  Christianity  was 
thus  introduced  and  spread  over  Ireland  with 
out  violence,  and  by  the  agency  of  a  single 
individual. 

Such  appear  to  be  the  true  character  and 
history  of  St.  Patrick,  divested  of  the  marvels 
and  miracles  with  which  superstition  has  em 
bellished  them.  Such  at  least  is  the  view 


40  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

taken  by  the  Irish  historian ;  *  and  such  is  the 
image  pictured  in  the  faith  or  fancy  of  tin- 
Irish  people.  And  where  is  there  a  brighter 
page  in  history  than  this.'  Where  is  there  a 
life  more  ennobled  by  lofty  purposes,  more 
illustrious  from  its  glorious  results,  th:m  thi> 
of  St.  Patrick?  Surely,  such  an  imli\idu;il  \~ 
no  projM-r  theme  for  ridicule  or  contempt.  If 
we  Americans  do  homage  to  the  memory  of 
Washington,  who  aided  in  delivering  our  coun 
try  from  tyranny,  the  Irishman  may  as  ju-tl\ 
hold  dear  the  cherished  recollections  of  him 
who  redeemed  his  country  from  paganism. 
Aside  from  the  immediate  benefits  which  St. 
Patrick  secured  to  In-hind,  he  has  left  to  all 
mankind  the  heritage  of  a  glorious  truth  — 
which  is,  that  in  contending  with  hut..-.n  power, 
human  passions  and  human  d.prmty,  the  min 
ister  of  Jesus  Christ  needs  no  other  weapon 
than  truth,  enforced  by  holy  example  1I< 
left  us  an  imperishable  lesson  of  wisdom  —  that 
moral  suasion  can  overturn  the  dominion  of 
ignorance  and  prejudice  which  might  forever 
hold  (he  sword  at  bay." 

•  Tbii  it  •uUtanUnllv  the  account  (riven  of  St.  Patrick  by 
Tbotnu  HOOK,  in  hi*  History  of  Inland. 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  41 

We  now  resume  the  thread  of  Irish  history, 
which,  instead  of  the  meagre  list  of  kings,  with 
the  records  of  their  barbarous  deeds,  from  the 
time  of  St.  Patrick  presents  a  series  of  very 
different  events.  The  scene  is  indeed  changed, 
and  illustrious  saints  of  both  sexes  pass  in  re 
view  before  our  eyes;  the  cowl  and  the  veil 
now  eclipse  the  glory  of  the  regal  crown ;  and, 
instead  of  the  festive  halls  of  Tara  and  Emania, 
the  lonely  cell  of  the  fasting  penitent  becomes 
the  scene  of  fame.  But,  while  monasteries 
were  building,  and  missionaries  were  sent  forth 
to  Christianize  various  countries,  few  events  of 
political  importance  took  place  for  a  long  series 
of  years.  At  the  beginning  of  the  sixth  cen 
tury,  Christianity  had  become  almost  universal 
throughout  Ireland ;  and  before  its  close  her 
church  could  boast  of  a  considerable  number  of 
persons,  whose  fame  for  sanctity  and  learning 
has  since  been  cherished  throughout  a  large  part 
of  the  Christian  world. 

As  I  shall  have  occasion,  in  discussing  the 
literature  of  Ireland,  to  notice  the  events  of  this 
period,  I  pass  over  a  large  space,  barren  of  po 
litical  interest,  and  come  to  the  period  when  the 
country  was  first  invaded  by  those  hosts  of  sea 
robbers,  who  passed  under  the  general  name  of 
4* 


42  IRELAND  AND  THE  HUSH. 

Danes.  But,  in  order  to  understand  the  causes 
of  their  success,  it  may  be  proper  to  glance  at 
the  state  of  the  country.  The  division  of  Ire 
land  into  five  kingdoms  had  existed  from  the 
earliest  ages.  Meath,  constituting  one  of  them, 
was  at  the  same  time  the  seat  of  the  chief  mon 
arch.  The  power  of  the  latter  was  gradually 
extended  by  encroachments  upon  the  other 
sovereignties.  The  mode  of  succession  was 
generally  hereditary,  though  in  some  cases  it  had 
been  elective.  There  were,  however,  no  settled 
boundaries  to  authority,  or  even  to  territory ;  for 
they  fluctuated  according  to  the  power  or  ambi 
tion  of  the  various  kings.  In  the  struggles 
which  took  place,  the  kingdom  of  Minister 
gradually  became  the  most  powerful  of  the  pen- 
tarchy,  and  even  set  up  a  rival  authority  against 
the  chief  monarch  of  the  realm. 

It  was  at  this  period,  705,  when  the  country 
was  distracted  by  the  division  between  contend 
ing  dynasties,  that  the  Danes  began  their  in 
vasions  of  Ireland.  The  name  of  the  monarch 
who  filled  the  Irish  throne  at  this  period,  was 
Aedus  or  Aedan,  during  whose  long  reign  the 
piratical  incursions  of  the  Northmen  increased 
in  frequency.  The  Irish  nation  being  unable  to 
present  a  firm  front  of  opposition  to  their  inva- 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  43 

• 

ders,  the  Danes  soon  obtained  possession  of 
some  parts  of  the  island,  and  here  they  main 
tained  themselves  for  two  hundred  years. 

I  cannot  go  into  the  details  of  these  events. 
Though  they  abound  in  bold  and  bloody  deeds, 
there  is  little  to  interest,  to  instruct,  or  amuse. 
We  pass  over  the  story  of  the  romantic  hero 
Lodbrog;  the  cruelties  and  oppressions  of  the 
Norwegian  ruler  Turgesius,  presenting  one 
dark  picture  of  plunder,  massacre,  and  devasta 
tion  ;  the  successive  invasions  of  the  country ; 
the  establishment  of  the  Danes  in  several  por 
tions  of  the  island,  and  the  unnumbered  miseries 
inflicted  upon  the  people. 

At  length  Brien  Borohm  came  to  the  throne 
of  Munster,  which,  as  before  intimated,  had  risen 
to  a  pitch  of  power  rivalling  that  of  the  supreme 
throne.  By  gradual  encroachments,  Brien  en 
larged  his  authority,  and  at  last  usurped  the 
sceptre  of  Ireland.  With  the  whole  power  of 
the  country  thus  concentrated,  he  gave  battle 
to  the  Danes,  1014,  on  the  field  of  Clontarf. 
Being  eighty  years  of  age,  he  was  unable  to  join 
in  the  fight,  and,  remaining  in  his  tent,  was 
killed  by  the  infuriated  Danes  during  the  en 
gagement  ;  but  his  army  was  completely  sue- 


44  '  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

cessful,  and  the  defeated  Northmen  were  soon 
after  finally  expelled  from  the  country. 

Ir< -land  was,  however,  an  exhausted  and  deso 
lated  land,  and  only  exchanged  one  oppressor  for 
another.  Dermod  Macmurrough,  the  factious 
and  turbulent  king  of  Leinstcr,  having  ex. 
the  anger  of  Roderick  O'Conner,  the  monarch 
of  Ireland,  was  driven  from  his  kingdom  and 
the  country.  He  fled  to  England,  and  besought 
the  aid  of  Henry  II.  This  monarch,  being  en 
gaged  in  foreign  wars,  declined  personal  in 
terference,  but  gave  authority  for  any  of  his 
subjects  to  aid  Dermod.  Richard  Strongbow, 
carl  of  Pembroke,  availed  himself  of  this  per 
mission,  and  made  a  descent  upon  Ireland,  with 
twelve  hundred  men,  in  1170.  His  success  led 
ry  II.  to  invade  the  country  in  1172,  with 
five  hundred  knights  and  four  thousand  soldiers. 
He  met  with  little  opposition,  and  the  In*li 
timely  submitted,  even  Roderick  thinking  it 
best  to  acknowledge  Henry's  authority.  After 
remaining  in  the  country  about  five  months, 
try  returned  to  England,  having  gained  little 
but  the  empty  title  of  king  of  Ireland. 

From  the  period  at  which  we  have  now  arrived, 
the  history  of  Ireland  is  familiar  to  most  readers. 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  45 

Reserving,  therefore,  a  few  historical  sketches, 
as  illustrations  of  the  Irish  character,  I  shall  not 
now  inflict  upon  you  even  an  outline  of  modern 
Irish  history.  It  is  a  painful  record  of  power 
selfishly  exercised  over  a  suffering  people  for 
centuries,  with  hardly  the  redeeming  process  of 
civilization.  After  all  that  Ireland  has  suffered, 
England  has  left  few  traces  of  her  dominion, 
except  the  settled  jealousy  of  the  people  and  the 
heaped-up  memory  of  unnumbered  wrongs. 

It  is  my  purpose,  hereafter,  to  discuss  the 
Irish  character  —  a  subject  of  great  fertility,  and 
one  that  will  afford  more  amusement  than  these 
dry  details  of  history.  But  it  seems  that  the 
ground  over  which  we  have  passed  is  not  wholly 
destitute  of  instruction,  even  as  a  means  of  un 
derstanding  the  Irish  people.  They  are  cer 
tainly  marked  with  more  decided  peculiarities 
than  any  other  nation  in  Europe.  In  compar 
ison  with  them,  how  bald  is  the  character  of  the 
Scotch,  French,  Spanish,  or  Dutch !  Each  of 
these  may  be  the  personification  of  a  single 
national  trait ;  but  the  idea  of  an  Irishman  at 
once  suggests  courage,  humanity,  cheerfulness, 
hospitality,  wit,  and,  perhaps,  that  species  of 
blunder  called  a  bull;  and  all  these  traits  of 
character  are  often  seen  struggling  through  the 


46  IRELAND  AXD  THE  IRISH 


lows  of   unlettered   rusticity,  poverty,    am! 
destitution. 

It  is  doubtless  true,  as  has  been  frequently 
affirmed,  that  national  character  is  formed  by 
circumstances ;  and  among  those  which  exert  a 
controlling  influence  are  climate  and  govern 
ment.  But  there  appear  to  be  original,  constitu 
tional  traits,  which  long  resist  even  the  force  of 
these.  It  is  easy  to  discern,  in  the  inhabitant* 
of  the  different  counties  of  England,  differ 
ences,  not  of  language  only,  but  of  complexion, 
thought,  feeling,  and  character,  which  are  evi 
dently  traceable  to  original  differences  in  the 
tribes  from  which  they  are  descended. 
•  To  the  original  Celtic  constitution  of  the 
Irish  we  may  therefore  attribute  much  of  their 
distinctive  character.  That  they  have  been  cut 
off  by  their  insular  condition  from  easy  and 
frequent  intercourse  with  other  nations;  • 
they  escaped  the  overwhelming  dominion  of 
Rome ;  that,  while  they  have  been  the  subjects 
of  foreign  dominion,  they  hare  still  cherished  a 
lively  feeling  of  nationality,  —  are  facts  which 
both  prove  and  explain  the  descent  of  their  lead 
ing  national  characteristics  from  high  antiquity. 

It  might  seem  that  language  would  be  one  of 
the  frailest  of  monuments ;  but  it  is  more  endu- 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  47 

ring  than  castles,  temples,  pyramids,  or  obelisks. 
These  moulder,  and  their  inscriptions  mingle 
with  the  dust ;  while  words  spoken  from  genera 
tion  to  generation,  are  handed  down,  thus  de 
scending  through  long  ages,  and,  in  this  instance, 
from  the  Celtic  barbarian  to  the  living  sons  of 
Erin.  Nor  do  words  descend  as  mere  barren 
sounds,  for  they  carry  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
customs,  with  them.  The  provision  which  we 
see  in  nature  fot  the  perpetuation  and  distribu 
tion  of  plants,  finds  a  parallel  in  the  process  by 
which  ideas  are  preserved  and  disseminated. 
We  see  that,  from  the  humble  grasses  to  the 
monarch  oak  of  the  forest,  each  plant  has  some  • 
shell,  or  pod,  or  folded  leaf,  by  which  the  seed  is 
sheltered  from  the  blast,  and  where  it  is  brought 
to  maturity  ;  and  we  find  that  'the  winds  and 
birds  distribute  these  over  distant  fields,  till  the 
whole  region  is  sown.  There  may  be  here  and 
there  a  sullen  desert  which  rejects  the  gift ;  but 
these  are  few  and  far  between.  The  proffered 
boon  is  generally  received  and  cherished  by  the 
soil,  till,  in  the  words  of  the  rhymer, 

"  No  spot  on  earth 
The  furrowing  ploughman  finds,  but  there 

The  rank  and  ready  weeds  have  birth, 
Sown  by  the  winds  to  mock  his  care." 


48  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

1 1  is  so  with  human  thoughts  and  feelings. 
Language  is  the  great  instrument  by  which 
these  are  perpetuated  and  disseminated.  Words, 
phrases,  fables,  allegories,  proVerbs,  are  equiva 
lent  to  the  shells,  and  pods,  and  capsules,  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom;  and  these  transmit  ideas 
from  generation  to  generation,  from  dynasty  to 
dynasty,  from  age  to  age. 

Poetry  becomes  the  depository  of  great  events, 
and,  like  the  winds  which  bear  the  winged  seeds 
from  field  to  field,  from  season  to  season,  wafts 
down  the  memory  of  heroic  deeds,  and  the 
creations  of  genius,  to  after  times.  Nor  is  it 
indispensable  to  this  process  that  a  written  lit 
erature  should  exist,  or  be  diffused  among  Un 
people  ;  for  tradition  has  a  conservative  power, 
which  resists  decay,  and  bruslies  away  the  gath 
ering  dust  of  oblivion. 

The  Irish  nation  has  been  peculiarly  influ 
enced  by  this  process  of  moral  and  intellectual 
semination.  Roman  conquest,  which  ploughed 
*p  all  the  rest  of  Europe,  sowing  it  with  Roman 
civilization,  left  Ireland  to  the  wild  luxuriance 
of  her  original  condition.  Nor  did  Christianity 
effectually  change  the  soil,  or  its  products,  but 
rather  grafted  new  ideas  upon  the  old  stock, 
thus  producing  a  new  and  peculiar  fruit 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  49 

The  isolated  position  of  Ireland,  with  the 
pugnacity  of  the  people,  not  only  secured  the 
country  from  Roman  invasion,  but,  after  the  in 
troduction  of  Christianity,  for  a  time  protected  it 
from  the  hordes  of  barbarians  which  overran 
other  countries.  In  its  sheltered  position,  it  be 
came  the  retreat  of  monastic  learning  arid  piety, 
in  that  dark  age,  when  the  sun  of  heaven 
seemed  withdrawn  from  the  rest  of  Europe. 
During  this,  and  at  a  still  later  period,  the  na 
tional  bardic  literature  was  cultivated  and 
spread  amongst  the  people.  The  annals  of  the 
nation  were  also  collected  and  transcribed,  thus 
being  fitted  for  transmission  to  after  times. 

There  are  two  other  circumstances  which  are 
to  be  duly  considered,  in  tracing  the  Irish  na 
tional  character  to  its  sources.  Though  Ireland 
has  been  nominally  conquered  by  the  English,  it 
has  never  been  thorouglily  subdued.  The  Irish 
mind  is  still  independent,  and,  deeply  indignant 
at  the  oppressions  of  British  dominion,  erects 
itself  in  sturdy  defiance  to  British  laws,  customs, 
and  opinions.  Two  thirds  of  the  Irish  nation, 
to  this  very  day,  reject  the  religion,  civilization, 
and  government  of  England,  in  their  hearts,  and 
cling  with  undying  pride  to  their  national  in- 
5 


• 


50  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

f 

dividual ity.  They  cannot  endure  the  idea  of 
being  quenched  and  forgotten  in  the  supremacy 
of  another  people.  Every  where  the  traveller  in 
Ireland  finds  a  spirit  of  self-sustentation,  which 
is  often  not  a  little  amusing,  when  we  compare 
the  boastful  assumption  with  the  truth.  A  single 
proverb  illustrates  the  whole  matter.  "  An  Eng 
lish  hen  cannot  lay  a  fresh  egg,"  saith  the  Hiber 
nian  adage. 

If,  then,  we  consider  the  Irish  people  as  a  na 
tion,  who,  according  to  her  accredited  annals, 
links  her  name  with  antiquity ;  whose  line  of 
descent  has  not  been  crossed  for*  ages ;  whose 
popular  legends,  carrying  with  them  the  popular 
faith,  connect  the  generations  of  to-day  with  h«  •- 
roes  of  the  olden  time ;  whose  minds  have  been 
the  recipients  of  ideas,  opinions,  customs,  and 
superstitions,  transmitted  from  ages  reaching 
back  to  the  very  cradle  of  the  human  family: 
whose  hearts  arc  full  of  the  treasured  memory  of 
national  wrongs ;  and  whose  Christianity,  strongly 
woven  into  the  popular  faith,  is  still  blent  with 
something  of  Oriental  paganism  —  we  shall  see 
sufficient  cause*  for  a  peculiar  national  charac 
ter.  If  education  be  the  formation  of  character, 
and  if  circumstances  ore  the  instruments  of  cdu- 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  51 

<• 

cation,  we  can  see  in  the  history  of  the  Irish 
nation,  at  least  in  part,  the  sources  of  the 
tenacious  pride,  the  poetic  temperament,  the 
rich,  mosaic  imagination,  the  quick  feeling,  the 
intense  nationality  of  the  Irish  people. 


IRELAND  AND  THE  HUSH. 
PART  II. 

TRAITS     b  F     IRISH     CHARACTER. 

WE  have  taken  a  brief  survey  of  Inland,  from 
the  earliest  times  to  the  present  day.  We  have 
seen  that  her  story  reaches  back  to  that  dim  and 
distant  period,  when  the  world  seemed  waking 
from  the  night  of  chaos,  and  history  is  but  it-^ 
troubled  dream.  We  have  wandered  through  the 
bardic  legends,  where  substantial  realities  are 
hardly  to  be  distinguished  from  the  thin  and 
shadowy  creations  of  fancy ;  we  have  traced 
the  Irish ^istory  down  to  a  later  date,  and  heard 
the  bloody  story  of  her  pagan  kings;  we  have 
seen  the  nation  converted,  as  by  magic,  from 
Druidiral  Mij»er-tition  Io  the  Christian  faith: 
and  we  hare  seen  Ireland,  so  long  ihe  battle 
ground  of  wrestling  kings  and  chiefs,  become  the 
>cn  nlxKle  of  piety  and  scholarship.  At  the 
v  time  that  darkness  brooded  o\er  the  rest 
of  Europe  and  the  nightmare  of  ignorance  sat 
long  and  heavy  upon  the  bosom  of  humanity,  we 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  53 

. 

have  seen  her  shine  with  prismatic  light  and 
lustre.  We  have  seen  this  glory  fade  and  a  long 
eclipse  cast  its  shadows  over  the  land;  we  have 
seen  unnumbered  miseries  inflicted  by  the  ma 
rauding  Danes;  and  we  have  seen  Irish  inde 
pendence  set  beneath  the  dark  horizon  of  Brit 
ain's  dominion. 

Thus  tracing  the  outline  of  the  history  of 
Ireland  for  two  thousand  years1,  we  have  seen 
her  share  in  the  common  lot  of  human  vicissi 
tude  ;  we  have  seen  her  also  the  victim  of  op 
pression  —  the  sport  of  kings  and  ministers,  who 
cared  as  little  for  her  sufferings,  as  does  the 
hawk  for  the  struggles  and  palpitations  of  its 
prey.  Yet,  through  all  these  changes,  we  have 
seen  that  the  Irish  people  have  never  been 
thoroughly  conquered ;  that  they  trace  back 
their  unbroken  line  of  descent  to"  the  first  set 
tlers  of  Europe ;  and  that  the  generation  of  to 
day  are  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  ancient 
Celtic  fathers,  retaining  the  language  and  many 
of  the  thoughts,  customs,  and  feelings,  of  their^ 
antique  ancestry.  From  a  history  so  peculiar, 
so  distinct  from  that  of  any  other  European  na 
tion,  we  have  attempted  to  deduce  the  sources 
of  some  of. those  national  traits  which  mark 
the  Irish  people.  It  is  the  discussion  and  il> 
5* 


54  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRI 

ration   of  these    that  now   claim  our  a; 
tion. 

Among  the  conspicuous  traits  of  Irish  charac- 
we  may  remark  their  in:  Inn- if  to  nillurc  to 
old  <<    .'  There  is  more  or  less  reverence 

for  the  past  in  all  countries.     It  is  the  tendency 
of  human  nature,  wherever  it  may  he  found,  to 
fall    into    tin*   beaten   path,   and    follow    it    out. 
"  Custom,"  says  Lord  Dacon,  "  is  the  principal 
magistrate  of  man's  life."     But  there  is  some 
thing  in  the  tenacity  with  which  the  Irish  hold 
on  to  the  thoughts,  opinions,  and  usages,  of  past 
ages,  which  appears  to  surpass  any  thing  of  th> 
kind  to  be  found  among  other  European  nation} 
This  is  strikingly  illustrated  by  nil  adhercjice  to 

^^•L 

their  political  system  for  more  than  a  thousand 
years,   although    experience    had   demonstr 
that  system  to  be  destructive  of  the  peace,  hap 
piness,  and  prosperity  of  the  nation. 

This  national   trait  is  also  displayed  in  the 
nun:  relics  of  ancient  vuperMitions  which 

are  still  preserved  by  the  people,  although  tin- 
ins  upon  which  they  are  founded  have  hern 
•wept  away  for  almost  fifteen  hundred  years.  I 
have  already  remarked  that  many  of  the  preva 
lent  customs  of  Ireland,  at  the  present  day, 
many  of  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  observances. 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  55 

of  the  people,  are  evidently  the  cherished  frag 
ments  of  paganism,  saved  from  the  wreck  of 
Persian  fire-worship,  Carthaginian  idolatry,  or 
Druidical  superstition.  It  would  exceed  our 
present  limits  to  go  into  a  detailed  examination 
of  these  ;  it  is  perhaps  only  necessary  to  remark, 
that  the  perpetuation  of  the  ancient  Celtic 
tongue  among  the  Irish  is  not  more  plain  and 
palpable,  than  the  preservation  of  ideas  and  sen 
timents  as  ancient  as  that  language  itself. 

It  is  easy  to  perceive  the  conservative  -ten 
dency  of  this  national  characteristic  in  the  Irish ; 
and  we  may  readily  believe  that  it  has  had  its 
share  of  influence  in  saving  the  people  from  that 
waste  and  disintegration  which  the  shock  of  ages 
brings  upon  mankind.  The  direct  operation  of 
this  adherence  to  old  customs  is  to  unite  the 
people  by  a  strong  bond  of  common  sympathy. 

Such  a  community  will  rally  as  one  man  to 
drive  out  a  foreign  people  who  may  come  with 
new  customs  to  overturn  the  old  ones.  A  slight 
examination  of  Irish  history  will  show  that 
facts  have  abundantly  proved  the  trutli  of  this 
theory.  No  foreign  people  have  ever  flour 
ished  in  Ireland.  The  Carthaginian  colonists 
were  successively  melted  down  and  mingled  in 
the  mass  of  the^nation.  The  Danes,  though 


56  IRELAND  AM)  THE  IRISH. 

they  occupied  certain  portions  of  the  country  for 
more  than  two  hundred  years,  being  of  too  stub 
born  a  stock  to  become  assimilated  with  those 
amoni;  whom  they  dwelt,  and  over  whom  they 
exercised  at  least  partial  dominion,  were  the  tin- 
ceasing  objects  of  hostility,  and  at  last  v. 
expelled  from  a  country  which  they  could  not 
subdue.  England  bowed  to  the  iron  sway  of  the 
Danes,  and  was  only  delivered  from  it  by  call 
ing  in  foreign  aid;  but  Ireland  never  yielded  to 
their  dominion,  and  by  her  own  arm  at  last  freed 
herself  from  these  rutlUess  oppressors. 

It  is  now  almost  seven  hundred  years  since 
Ireland  was  conquered  by  an  English  king;  but, 
for  at  least  five  centuries  after  that  conquest,  the 
dominion  of  England  over  Ireland  was  little 
more  than  nominal.  From  the  time  of  Strong- 
bow's  invasion  to  the  period  of  Elizabeth,  though 
Ireland  was  regarded  as  an  appendage  to  the 
British  crown,  two  thirds  of  the  Irish  people  hold 
themselves,  both  in  theory  and  practice,  almost 
wholly  independent  of  foreign  control.  And 
i  down  to  the  present  day,  there  is  a  per 
petual  struggle  on  the  part  of  the  nation  to  heave 
off  the  giant  that  has  thrown  her  down.  After 
seven  hundred  years  of  either  nominal  pr  real 
dominion,  England  has  been  unable  to  Anglicize 


IttELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  57 

Ireland.  Not  only  is  the  government  still  re 
sisted  by  the  Irish  people,  but,  as  before  re 
marked,  the  religion,  the  customs,  the  opinions, 
and  feelings  of  England,  are  obstinately  kept  at 
bay  by  a  large  part  of  the  nation. 

Among  numerous  illustrations  of  this,  the  fol 
lowing  is  furnished  by  Miss  Edgeworth.  She 
tells  us  of  a  wealthy  young  nobleman,  who  built 
a  neat  cottage,  with  all  the  modern  comforts 

o     * 

and  conveniences,  for  an  old  Irish  woman.  On 
going  to  the  place  a  few  weeks  after  she  had 
taken  possession,  he  found  that  she  had  con 
verted  it,  as  far  as  possible,  into  an  Irish  hovel. 
Even  the  fireplace  was  disregarded,  and  a  fire 
was  built  in  the  middle  of  the  brick  floor,  the 
smoke,  of  course,  circulating  through  the  room. 
The  old  woman  explained  this  by  insisting  that 
she  was  so  accustomed  to  smoke,  she  could  not 
live  without  it. 

It  may  be  said,  and  with  much  justice,  that 
this  sturdy  adherence  to  old  customs  partakes 
of  obstinacy  and  prejudice,  and  that  it  may  be 
among  the  causes  of  that  tardy  march  of  im 
provement,  which  may  be  remarked  in  Ireland. 
It  will  also  serve  to  explain,  in  some  degree,  the 
fact,  notorious  to  most  of  us,  that  an  Irishman 
seldom  knows  bow  to  do  more  than  one 


58  IRELAND  AND  THK  fKISH. 

well,  and  that  ho  is  wholly  deficient  in  that  reran* 
tility  which  enables  the  Yankee  to  turn  his  hand 
successfully  to  whatever  may  chance  to  offer. 

But  if  a  portion  of  the  Irish  people  miss  the 
true  end  of  existence  by  adhering  to  old  cus 
toms,  permit  me  to  suggest  the  caution  that  we 
do  not  rashly  run  into  the  opposite  extn 
In  a  country  like  ours,  having  no  antiquity  and 
opening  boundless  fields  of  enterprise  to  all, 
we  are  apt  to  think  only  of  the  future,  and,  in 
our  eagerness  to  lead  in  the  race,  to  forget 
those  more  than  golden  treasures  which  consist 
of  memories  and  sentiments  and  nsages.  The 
truth  is,  man  is  not  made  wholly  for  action,  but 
partly  for  contemplation.  He  is  placed  between 
two  glorious  mirrors  —  anticipation  and  retro 
spection  —  the  one  beckoning  him  forward,  the 
other  reflecting  light  upon  the  path  he  should 
follow,  and  casting  a  cool  and  wholesome  shade 
over  his  passions.  It  is  •  departure  from  the 
just  balance  of  his  nature,  to  dash  either  of 
tin  •  111  piece*.  Whoever  limits  his  existence 
to  "  that  fleeting  strip  of  sunlight,  which  we 
call  nmr"  reduces  himself,  like  the  ticking 
dock,  to  a  mere  measure  of  passing  seconds. 
id  who  lives  only  in  the  future,  never  pausing 
to  look  back  and  take  counsel  of  the  past. 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  59 

never  bending  his  gaze  over  the  world  of  retro 
spection,  softened  with  the  mist  and  moonlight 
of  memory,  —  lives  the  life  of  the  restless  set 
tler  of  the  far  West,  who  never  stops  to  secure 
or  enjoy  what  has  been  won  from  the  wilderness, 
but  still  pushes  on  and  on,  for  scenes  of  new 
excitement  and  new  adventure.  A  wise  man, 
and  a  wise  people,  will  use  the  past  as  the 
prophet  of  the  future,  and  make  both  of  these 
subservient  to  the  interests  of  each  passing 
moment.  The  children  of  Israel  would  not 
stay  in  Egypt,  but,  in  going  to  the  land  of  prom 
ise,  they  took  the  bones  of  the  patriarch  Joseph 
with  them.  In  pressing  forward  in  the  march 
of  improvement,  let  us,  in  like  manner,  bear 
along  with  us  the  experience,  the  wisdom,  the 
virtue,  and  the  religion,  of  our  fathers. 

But,  while  we  admit  that  the  Irish  carry  their 
observance  of  old  customs  to  the  length  of  ob 
stinacy,  it  is  proper  to  notice  one  remarkable 
exception  afforded  by  their  history.  I  mean  the 
introduction  and  establishment  of  Christianity 
in  Ireland  by  St.  Patrick.  The  history  of  this 
event  I  have  already  detailed ;  and  you  have 
seen  that  even  the  pertinacity  of  superstition 
yielded  in  Ireland  to  the  voice  of  truth,  assu 
ming  the  mild  and  gentle  accents  of  persuasion  — 


60  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

a  fact  that  suggests  the  proper  course  of  action' 
to  all  who  attempt  to  exert  an  influence  over  the 
Irish  people. 

Among  the  characteristics  usually  assigned  to 
the  Irish,  is  that  of  pugnacity.  It  has  been  said, 
that  while  the  Englishman  fights  for  the  suprem 
acy  of  the  sea,  the  Frenchman  for  glory,  the 
German  for  his  prince,  and  the  Swiss  for  pay  and 
rations,  the  son  of  Erin  fights  for  fun.  Even 
the  Irish  song  seems  to  lend  countenance  to 
this  popular  notion;  for  it  speaks  of  knocking 
down  a  friend  from  mere  affection. 

It  is  not  a  little  curious  that  the  names  of 
places  in  Ireland  coincide  with  this  attribute  of 
the  people.  Ireland— *  the  land  of  ire  —  is  the 
designation  of  the  country ;  and  Killgobbin, 
Killkcnny,  Killinacthomas,  Inni^killin^,  Kill- 
many,  Killmorc,  and  a  thousand  others  of  like 
import,  arc  the  names  of  towns.  Knockmelc- 
down.  Kiiockinalloch,  Knockmorc,  is  the  es 
tablished  nomenclature  for  hills.  Every  hill, 
indeed,  is  a  knock,  and  every  church  a  hill. 
The  rhyme  says, 

"  Who  killed  Killdare  ?     Who  d.rrd  Killdarc  to  kill ?  " 
"I  killed  Killdare,  and  due  kill  whom  I  will." 

The  frequent  recurrence  of  names  of  places 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  61 

beginning  with  kill  might  indeed  seem  alarming 
to  a  stranger  in  Ireland,  especially  if  he  be 
under  the  influence  of  those  prejudices  which 
have  been  excited  against  that  country.  The 
following  mistake  occurred  when  some  of  the 
English  militia  regiments  were  in  Ireland  dur 
ing  the  rebellion  of  1798.  A  soldier,  a  native 
of  Devonshire,  who  was  stationed  at  an  outpost, 
stopped  a  countryman,  and  demanded  who  he 
was,  whence  he  came,  and  whither  he  was 
going.  The  fellow  replied,  "  And  my  name, 
my  dear  honey,  is  Tullyhog ;  and,  d'ye  see,  I  am 
just  been  to  Killmany  and  am  going  to  Kill- 
more."  Upon  this,  the  feentinel  immediately 
seized  him,  expecting  to  receive  a  high  reward 
for  having  apprehended  a  most  sanguinary  rebel, 
just  come  from  murder,  and  going  to  a  fresh 
banquet  of  blood. 

But  there  is  graver  authority  for  this  view 
of  Hibernian  character.  The  first  glimpses  of 
Irish  history  present  us  with  the  spectacle  of  a 
nation  almost  constantly  engaged  in  civil  war. 
The  division  of  the  country  into  a  number  of 
petty  kingdoms  would  tend  to  breed  dissension, 
even  among  a  people  disposed  to  peace ;  but  in 
a  nation  prompt  to  act  and  slow  to  reflect,  it 
was  sure  to  result  in  constant  scenes  of  battle 
6 


62  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

and  bloodshed.  The  appetite  of  the  people, 
therefore,  for  strife,  became  strengthened  by  the 
successive  practice  of  ages,  until,  at  last,  a  state 
of  internal  war  seemed  to  be  the  natural  con 
dition  of  the  Irish  people.  This  characteristic 
of  the  nation  seems  to  have  descended  even  to 
our  more  pacific  times,  though  it  is  greatly 
mitigated. 

But,  in  thus  stating  and  illustrating  the  pug 
nacity  of  the  Irish,  we  must  remark  that  it  is 
of  a  very  peculiar  kind.  It  seems  to  have  no 
malice  or  ferocity  in  iy  for  the  broke'n  head 
of  to-day  leaves  no  soreness  at  the  heart  to 
morrow.  It  is,  in  truth,  but  a  species  of  chiv 
alry  resulting  from  high  animal  spirits,  and  an 
excessive  appreciation  of  courage,  excited  and 
perpetuated,  perhaps,  by  the  deeds  of  their  he- 
roes  as  set  forth  by  the  bards.  A  few  instances 
will  illustrate  this  character.  An  Irishman, 
having  had  a  large  fortune  suddenly  devolved 
upon  him,  determined  to  make  the  grand  tour 
of  Europe.  'After  passing  through  France  and 
It.ily,  and  part  of  Spain,  with  scarcely  any  mo 
tions  of  delight,  he  entered  a  village  in  the  latter 
country,  where  he  saw  a  mob  fighting  desperate 
ly  ;  upon  which,  in  a  moment,  he  sprung  out  of 
his  carriage,  and,  without  inquiring  into  the 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  63 

cause  of  the  battle,  or  ascertaining  which  side 
he  ought  in  justice  to  espouse,  he  laid  about 
him  with  his  shilala,  and  after  having  had  sev 
eral  of  his  teeth  knocked  out,  he  returned  to 
his  carriage,  and  exclaimed,  "  By  St.  Patrick, 
it  is  the  only  bit  of  fun  I  have  had  since  I  left 
Ireland ! " 

We  have  among  us  a  story  of  an  Irishman, 
who  was  employed  by  a  farmer  of  New  Hamp 
shire.  He  was,  on  one  occasion,  about  going  to 
a  fair,  then  annually  held  at  the  town  of  Derry, 
when  the  farmer  attempted  to  dissuade  him. 
"  You  always  come  back  from  the  fair,  Pat," 
said  the  farmer,  "  with  a  broken  head ;  now 
stay  at  home,  and  I  will  give  you  five  dollars." 
"  And  do  you  think,  sir,"  said  Patrick,  "  I'd  take 
five  dollars  for  the  bating  I'd  get  ? " 

There  is  no  nation  on  whom  the  gift  of 
natural  courage  is  more  largely  bestowed  than 
on  the  Irish.  In  the  common  people,  it  too 
often  displays  itself  in  noisy  brawls  ;  but  in  the 
disciplined  soldier,  it  rises  to  the  loftiest  pitch 
of  intrepid  gallantry. 

In  battle,  on  shore  and  at  sea,  the  Irish 
soldier  and  sailor  have  been  remarkable  for 
their  valor,  steadiness,  and  subordination.  As 
far  back  as  Spenser's  time,  the  bravery *of  the 


64  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

Irish  soldier  was  honorably  mentioned.  That 
happy  genius  says,  "  I  have  heard  some  great 
warriors  say,  that  in  all  the  services1  which  they 
had  seen  abroad  in  foreign  countries,  they  never 
saw  a  more  comely  man  than  an  Irishman,  nor 
that  cometh  on  more  bravely  to  his  charge." 

The  instances  of  Irish  intrepidity  are  numer 
ous  and  striking.  There  is  an  affecting  story  of 
this  sort,  connected  with  the  famous  battle  of 
Clontarf.  In  this  engagement,  many  of  the  Irish 
princes  joined  their  forces  to  those  of  Brian 
Borohm.  This  hoary  monarch  being  eighty 
years  of  age,  and  unable  personally  to  engage  in 
the  conflict,  remained  in  his  tent  during  the 
battle.  Toward  the  close  of  the  engagement,  a 
few  of  the  infuriated  Danes  broke  in  upon  the 
unprotected  chief,  and  regardless  of  his  gray 
hairs  and  helpless  condition,  took  his  life.  But 
the  Irish  were  completely  victorious  and  the 
death  of  Brian  was  deeply  avenged.  The  battle 
being  over,  the  Irish  chieftains  set  out  for  their 
several  dominions.  One  of  these,  the  leader  of 
a  gallant  band,  who  had  shared  largely  in  the 
perils,  as  well  as  the  triumphs  of  the  fight,  was 
marching  on,  bearing  the  sick  and  wounded 
carefully  toward  their  homes.  They  came,  at 
length,  to  the  territory  of  another  chief  which 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  65 

they  desired  to  cross.  There  they  were  met  by 
an  army  who  refused  permission  to  enter  their 
district,  but  upon  the  payment  of  tribute.  Tbis 
was  stoutly  refused ;  and  although  the  soldiers 
from  the  field  of  Clontarf  were  worn  out 
with  fatigue,  crippled  with  losses,  and  encum 
bered  by  their  sick  and  wounded,  they  still 
determined  upon  battle,  rather  than  submission 
to  a  demand  which  they  considered  at  any 
time  unjust,  and  on  the  present  occasion,  in  the 
highest  degree  dastardly.  Even  the  sick  and 
wounded,  under  these  circumstances,  seemed  to 
be  inspired  with  the  spirit  of  battle,  and  insisted 
upon  taking  their  share  in  the  conflict  which 
was  about  to  ensue.  Accordingly,  at  their  re 
quest,  stakes  were  driven  in  the  ground,  along 
the  front  of  the  line  where  the  onset  was  ex 
pected,  and  to  each  of  these,  one  of  the  sick  or 
wounded  soldiers  was  firmly  tied,  in  an  erect 
posture,  his  sword  and  battle-axe  being  placed 
in  his  hands.  Thus  prepared,  the  little  army 
awaited  the  battle,  which  now  seemed  at  hand. 
The  inhospitable  prince  led  on  his  troops,  and 
was  about  to  give  orders  for  the  attack,  when 
seeing  in  the  little  army  that  opposed  him  the 
sick  and  wounded  tied  to  their  posts,  he  was  so 

smitten  with  admiration  at  this  display  of  self- 
6* 


66  HIELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

4 

devotion,  that  he  withdrew  his  forces,  and  al 
lowed  the  army  to  proceed  unmolested  on  its 
march. 

As  connected  with  the  courage  of  the  Irish,  it 
is  proper  to  notice  that  improvident  restlessness, 
which  is  a  conspicuous  characteristic  of  the  peo 
ple,  particularly  under  the  restraint  of  foreign 
dominion.  Even  during  those  periods  in  which 
they  were  only  subject  to  their  legitimate 
princes,  and  whose  authority  they  seemed  to 
approve,  the  Irish  still  were  in  a  state  of  almost 
perpetual  agitation.  In  more  modern  times,  and 
since  the  cords  of  the  English  dominion  have 

O 

been  drawn  more  tightly,  this  nervous  excita 
bility  of  the  nation  has  even  increased.  Since 
the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  Ireland  has  presented 
an  almost  constant  series  of  convulsions,  insur 
rections,  or  rebellions.  For  these,  indeed,  there 
may  have  been  ample  provocation  in  the  wick 
ed  injustice  of  their  oppressors.  The  whole 
course  of  British  policy  toward  Ireland,  for  three 

/ 

hundred  years,  appears  to  have  been  calculated 
to  alienate  the  feelings  of  the  people  from  their 
rulers,  and  rouse  all  their  prejudices  and  pas 
sions  against  England  and  the  English.  The 
first  of  these  impolitic  acts  was  adopted  in  1536. 
A  parliament  was  then  assembled,  which  formally 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  67 

• 

proceeded  to  annul  the  papal  power,  and  to  de 
clare  Henry  VIII.  of  England  the  supreme  head 
on  earth  of  the  church  in  Ireland.  Every  per 
son  who  refused  to  take  the  oath  *of  supremacy 
was  declared  guilty  of  high  treason.  But  to  re 
sist  these  usurpations,  confederacies  were  formed 
all  over  the  kingdom ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  year 
1551,  that  the  English  liturgy  was  performed  in 
the  Irish  churches.  But  in  spite  of  all  the  co 
ercive  measures  of  the  English  government,  the 
bulk  of  the  nation  steadily  adhered  to  their 
ancient  faith,  and  the  cause  of  religion  became 
the  cause  of  the  nation.  The  attempts  to  force 
the  people  to  renounce  a  faith  which  they  had 
received  from  St.  Patrick,  and  to  adopt  a  new 
system  of  religion  with  an  English  ritual,  nat 
urally  became  blended  with  the  national  preju 
dices  against  English  oppression,  and  cooperated 
to  produce  the  famous  insurrection  of  Tyrone. 

The  conduct  of  James  I.  estranged  the  affec 
tion  of  the  Irish ;  and  during  the  reign  of  Charles 
I.  another  rebellion  broke  out,  which  deluged 
the  country  with  blood.  Cromwell  undertook 
to  crush  out  the  restive  spirit  of  the  nation 
by  the  trampling  heel  of  military  power.  His 
cruelties  toward  the  people  are  almost  incredi 
ble.  During  his  sway,  twenty  thousand  Irish- 


68  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

men  were  sold  as  slaves,  and  forty  thousand 
entered  into  foreign  service  to  escape  from  tyr 
anny  at  home. 

The  distracted  state  of  this  unhappy  kingdom 
in  1633  can  hardly  be  described.  It  was  then 
the  theatre  of  one  of  the  fiercest  civil  wars  that 
ever  raged  in  any  country.  The  Catholics  de 
clared  for  "James,  and  the  Protestants  for  Wil 
liam,  prince  of  Orange.  The  battle  of  the 
Boyne,  on  the  first  of  July,  1690,  decided  the 
fate  of  James,  who  fled  to  France.  William 
acceded  to  the  British  throne ;  and  heavy  indeed 
were  the  punishments  inflicted  on  the  Catholics, 
who  had  taken  part  with  the  now  defeated  and 
exiled  Stuart.  The  number  of  Irish  subjects 
outlawed  on  this  occasion  amounted  to  nearly 
four  hundred  thousand,  and  their  lands  confis 
cated  were  more  than  a  million  and  a  half  of 
acres. 

In  1798,  the  injured  Irish,  deprived  of  the 
enjoyment  of  their  dearest  rights,  and  con 
demned  to  political  disabilities  on  account  of 
professing  the  Catholic  religion,  once  more  re 
belled.  This  event  was  within  the  memory 
of  many  who  are  still  living ;  and  we  have 
seen  in  our  own  time  one  distinguished  leader 
of  that  rebellion,  having  escaped  from  the  pur- 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  69 

/    t 

suit  of  tyranny,  seeking  a  home,  and  at  last  a 
resting-place,  on  our  American  shores.  I  speak 
of  the  late  Thomas  Addis  Emmet,  of  New 
York.  After  the  failure  of  their  schemes,  he 
and  his  associates  were  taken,  tried,  and  con 
demned.  Some  were  executed,  and  some  trans 
ported  ;  but  he  was  himself  permitted  to  escape 
from  prison,  by  the  jailer,  and  it  is  supposed  by 
the  connivance  of  the  British  government.  Af 
ter  many  vicissitudes,  he  came  to  this  country, 
and  engaged  in  the  profession  of  the  law.  His 
great  learning,  his  powerful  intellect,  and  his 
masterly  eloquence,  soon  raised  him  to  the  high 
est  honors  of  his  profession.  His  mind  was 
indeed  haunted  with  recollections  of  his  country 
and  his  home,  and  sometimes  these  bitter  memo 
ries  would  find  utterance.  But  in  general,  he 
displayed  a  character  of  great  gentleness  and 
generosity ;  and  becoming  an  American  citizen, 
he  adopted  the  customs  and  feelings  of  our 
country.  He  died  in  1827. 

Robert  Emmet,  the  brother  of  this  distin 
guished  individual,  was  concerned  in  the  rebel 
lion  of  1803,  but  his  fate  was  more  melancholy. 
He  was  a  lawyer ;  young,  ardent,  and  full  of 
talent.  Greatly  beloved  for  his  virtues,  and 
intensely  admired  for  his  genius,  he  became 


7  0  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

a  leader  among  the  conspirators.  With  the  rest 
he  was  detected,  seized,  and  brought  to  trial. 
Before  his  judge  he  defended  himself,  with  ad 
mirable  dignity,  eloquence,  and  power.  Know 
ing  that  his  fate  was  sealed,  he  sought  not  to 
save  his  life,  but  only  to  shelter  his  name  and 
fame  from  after  infamy.  "  Though  you,  my 
lord,"  said  he,  "  sit  there  a  judge,  and  I  stand 
here  a  culprit,  yet  you  are  but  a  man,  and  I  am 
another.  I  haye  a  right,  therefore,  to  vindicate 
my  character  and  motives  from  the  aspersions  of 
calumny ;  and  as  a  man  to  whom  fame  is  dearer 
than  life,  I  will  make  the  last  use  of  that  life  in 
rescuing  my  name  and  my  memory  from  the 
afflicting  imputation  of  having  been  a  traitor  to 
my  native  land." 

He  then  proceeded  with  a  stirring  appeal  to 
his  countrymen,  and  finally  closed  his  defence  in 
the  following  words :  "  My  lamp  of  life  is  nearly 
extinguished ;  my  race  is  finished.  The  fresh 
grave  will  be  soon  ready  to  receive  me,  and  1 
shall  sink  into  its  bosom.  All  I  request  at  part 
ing  from  the  world  is  the  charity  of  its  silence. 
Let  no  man  write  my  epitaph ;  for  as  no  man, 
who  knows  my  motives,  dare  defend  them,  let 
not  prejudice  or  ignorance  asperse  them.  Let 
them  and  me  repose  in  obscurity  and  peace,  and 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  71 

my  tomb  remain  undescribed,  till  other  times 
and  other  men  can  do  justice  to  my  character." 
Such  was  the  lofty  and  intrepid  bearing  of 
Robert  Emrnet,  then  but  twenty-four  years  old, 
in  the  hopeless  hour  of  condemnation.  But 
this  could  not  save  him ;  and  he  perished  on  the 
scaffold.  The  circumstances  which  attended 
his  fate,  however,  entered  into  every  generous 
bosom,  and  even  his  enemies  'amented  the 
stern  policy  which  dictated  his  execution.  "  But 
there  was  one  heart  whose  anguish  it  would 
be  impossible  to  describe.  In  happier  days, 
and  fairer  fortunes,  Emmet  had  won  the  affec 
tions  of  a  beautiful  and  interesting  girl,  the 
daughter  of  the  celebrated  Curran.  She  loved 
him  with  the  fervor  of  a  woman's  first  and  only 
love.  When  every  worldly  maxim  arrayed  it 
self  against  him ;  when  blasted  in  fortune,  and 
disgrace  and  danger  darkened  around  his  name, 
—  she  loved  him  the  more  ardently  for  his  very 
sufferings.  Exiled  from  home  by  a  father's  stern 
decree,  and  haunted  by  the  memory  of  her 
lover's  dishonored  grave ;  with  nothing  to  soothe 
the  pang  of  separation,  nothing  to  melt  sorrow 
into  those  blessed  tears,  sent  like  dews  to  revive 
the  parched  bosom  in  the  hour  of  anguish,  —  she 
gradually  wasted  away,  and  died  the  victim  of  a 


. 


72  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

broken  heart."  Her  melancholy  story  has  found 
a  chronicler  in  Irving,  and  Emmet  himself  is 
beautifully  mourned  by  the  poet  Moore,  who 
thus  alludes  to  his  last  request  —  "the  charity 
of  the  world's  silence." 

"  O, breathe  not  his  name ;  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade, 
Where,  cold  and  unhonored,  his  relics  are  laid ; 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark,  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night  dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head. 

"  But  the  night  dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it  weeps, 
Shall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps ; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  souls." 

Such  is  the  pathetic  story  of  RoBert  Emmet ; 
and  thus  the  generous  beatings  of  a  noble  heart 
for  his  country's  freedom  were  silenced  forever. 
Alas  for  poor  Ireland  that  patriotism  hr  her 
children  should  be  a  crime  for  which  the  gal 
lows  only  can  atone ! 

I  have  thus  noticed  some  of  the  rebellions  of 
Ireland ;  and  though  they  may  hav.e  been  justi 
fied  by  the  oppression  of  her  despotic  masters, 
yet  in  most  of  these  cases,  and  particularly  in 
the  last,  there  was  an  improvidence,  which,  as  it 
insured  failure,  almost  cancelled  the  patriotism 
displayed  by  those  who  were  ready  to  put  life 


IRELAND     AND     THE    IRISH.  73 

and  property  at  risk  for  the  sake  of  liberty.  But 
beside  rebellions,  there  have  been  many  lesser  dis 
turbances  :  agitation  is,  indeed,  but  the  common 
condition  of  Ireland.  A  large  part  of  the  people 
are  miserable,  and  it  is  not  strange  that  whoever 
will  come  to  them  with  promises  of  improvement, 
should  obtain  ready  listeners  and  obedient  fol 
lowers.  How  easy  to  stir  up  a  wretched  peo 
ple,  by  reviving  the  memory  of  by-gone  wrongs, 
and  appealing  to  present  sufferings  !  How  strong 
the  argument  of  revenge  to  the  injured,  and  of 
relief  to  the  oppressed  !  It  is  not  wonderful  that 
such  a  man  as  O'Connell  —  even  though  selfish 
and  unprincipled,  as  some  contend  he  is  —  should 
be  able  to  lead  the  suffering  Irish  at  his  will. 
He  is  at  least  a  man  of  extraordinary  talent,  and 
so  long  as  his  interest  and  that  of  Ireland  may 
coincide,  so  long  at  least  he  will  be  her  cham 
pion.  He  may,  indeed,  be  the  occasion  of  last 
ing  good  to  his  country.  He  is,  as  I  have  said, 
a  man  of  extraordinary  talent.  We  have  seen 
him,  in  the  British  commons,  successfully 
breasting  attacks  which  would .  have  overborne 
any  other  than  a  man  of  dauntless  intrepidity 
and  gigantic  power.  Such  a  man,  with  Ireland 
at  his  back,  is  no  mean  champion.  He  puts  his 
shoulder  to  the  edifice  of  Irish  affairs,  as  did 
7 


74  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

. 

Samson  to  the  pillars  of  the  Philistine  temple, 
and,  shaking  the  tottering  mass,  says  to  the  Brit 
ish  ministry,  "  Grant  me  what  I  ask,  or  I  will 
bring  down  the  whole  fabric  upon  your  heads ! " 
Something  has  been  already  granted  to  Ireland, 

in  O'Connell's   day.     The  Catholic  disabilities 

J 

are  removed,  and  the  church  tithes  will  erelong 
be  mitigated  or  surrendered.  Whether  absen 
teeism,  the  greatest  curse  of  Ireland,  will  cease, 
is  a  more  doubtful  question. 

Beside  the  attachment  of  the  Irish  to  old  cus 
toms,  their  acknowledged  pugnacity,  and  that 
improvident  restlessness,  which  helps  them 
rather  to  get  into  troubles  than  out  of  them,  — 
common  fame  assigns  to  them  another  peculiar 
and  striking  characteristic ;  I  mean  a  laugha 
ble  confusion  of  ideas,  which  is  expressed  by  the 
word  bull,  a  term  derived  from  the  Dutch,  and 
signifying  a  blunder.  Whether  the  Irish  are 
more  addicted  than  others  to  this  species  of 
mental  faux  pas,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that 
much  of  what  is  attributed  to  them  is  imaginary, 
and,  so  far  as  it.  might  seem  to  imply  any  intel 
lectual  imperfection,  the  mere  invention  of  ill- 
natured  prejudice.  A  person  in  using  another 
language  than  his  own  frequently  makes  mis 
takes.  A  Frenchman,  once,  speaking  to  Dr. 


IRELAND     AND     THE    IRISH.  75 

Johnson,  and  intending  to  pay  him  a  compliment 
by  alluding  to  the  Rambler,  which  at  that  time 
was  the  theme  of  universal  admiration,  addressed 
him  as  Monsieur  Vagabond,  the  word  vagabond, 
in  French,  being  synonymous  with  rambler. 
An  Italian  gentleman,  in  speaking  to  an  Ameri 
can  lady,  and  intending  to  say  that  she  had 
grown  somewhat  fleshy,  since  he  had  seen  her, 
said,  "  Madam,  you  have  gained  very  much  beef 
since  I  saw  you  !"  Such  mistakes  as  these  are 
often  made  by  foreigners ;  but  good  taste  dictates 
that  they  should  be  passed  over  without  remark, 
or  in  that  polite  manner  in  which  a  French 
man  is  said  to  have  noticed  a  blunder  of  Dr. 
Moore's.  "  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  doctor,  "  that 
the  word  I  have  used  is  not  French."  "  No," 
said  the  Frenchman,  "  it  is  not;  but  it  deserves 
to  be." 

Such  is  the  tolerance  we  extend  to  the  blun 
ders  of  foreigners  speaking  a  language  with 
which  they  are  imperfectly  acquainted,  unless, 
forsooth,  they  chance  to  be  Hibernians.  In  that 
case,  the  rule  is  reversed,  of  course.  A  poor 
Irishman,  once  being  called  upon  to  testify  in 
an  English  court,  was  suddenly  asked  by  the 
judge,  "  Who  and  what  are  you  1 "  Pat  was 
fresh  from  Ballymony,  and  his  knowledge  of 


7  6  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

English  was  limited;  but  he  did  the  best  he 
could.  "  Plase  your  honor,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a 
poor  widow ! "  meaning  widower.  Now  this 
mistake  was  no  worse  than  we  hear  from  others 
in  similar  circumstances;  but  considering  that 
the  blunder  was  from  an  Irishman,  who  would 
esteem  himself  restrained  from  laughter,  by  any 
polite  regard  to  the  man's  feelings,  or  fail  to 
discover  in  this  instance  an  unquestionable 
specimen  of  the  genuine  Irish  bull  ? 

If  a  large  portion  of  imputed  Irish  bulls  are 
thus  mere  common-place  blunders,  such  as  all 
foreigners  are  liable  to  make  in  speaking  any 
other  than  their  native  tongue,  there  is  a  still 
larger  portion  that  are  attributed  to  the  Irish, 
which  may  claim  a  different  paternity.  Many 
of  our  common  proverbs,  to  which  we  have 
given  a  local  habitation  and  a  name,  are  in  fact 
borrowed  from  other  countries.  "  You  carry 
coals  to  Newcastle,"  might  seem  to  claim  John 

7  Q 

Bull  for  its  father ;  but  the  sentiment  had  existed 
for  ages  before  John  Bull  himself  was  born. 
"  You  carry  oil  to  a  city  of  olives,"  is  a  Hebrew 
proverb  that  has  been  in  use  for  three  thousand 
years  ;  and  "  You  carry  pepper  to  Hindostan,"  is 
an  Eastern  adage  of  perhaps  as  great  antiquity. 
The  fact  is  nearly  the  same  in  regard  to  many 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  77 

f 

of  the  pithy  sayings,  smart  jokes,  and  witty  rep 
artees,  which  are  in  common  use  among  us,  and 
are  imputed  to  well-known  individuals.  A  large 
part  of  Joe  Miller's  jokes,  pretending  to  have 
originated  with  Englishmen,  are  told  in  France, 
Germany,  Russia,  Turkey,  Persia,  and  perchance 
China,  and  in  like  manner  descend  from  genera 
tion  to  generation,  being  successively  attributed 
to  such  characters  as  they  may  suit.  Some 
scandalous  story  being  told  of  Dr.  Bellamy,  a 
person  asked  him  if  it  were  true.  "  No,"  said 
the  doctor ;  "  some  fellow  invented  it,  and  laid 
it  to  me;  but  the  rascal  knew  me."  It  is  this 
suitableness  of  an  anecdote  to  an  individual,  that 
often  gives  it  much  additional  point.  The  dis 
creet  story-teller,  therefore,  always  seeks  to  find 
some  hero  to  whom  he  may  impute  his  tale,  in 
the  hope  that  he  may  give  to  it  this  adventitious 
zest.  An  American  was  once  telling  some 

O 

anecdote  of  Ethan  Allen,  of  Vermont,  to  a  Ger 
man,  remarking,  by  the  way,  that  it  must  be 
true,  for  his  grandfather  was  present,  and  wit 
nessed  the  fact.  "It  is  a  good  story,  certainly," 
said  the  German,  "  but  I  have  heard  the  same 
told  of  my  great  grandfather,  Baron  Von  Hot- 
tengen,  ever  since  I  was  a  boy." 

This  incident  throws   a   great   deal   of  light 
upon  our   subject.     Let  one    acquire    a   repu- 


78  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH 

tation  for  any  particular  thing,  and  every  anec 
dote  from  the  time  of  Confucius  down  to  the 
present  day,  that  may  seem  to  be  illustrative  of 
the  qualities  of  this  individual,  is  told  of  him. 
Thus  it  is  that  Ethan  Allen  is  the  hero  of  many 
wild  adventures  that  he  never  achieved,  and  the 
witty  Lord  Norbury  is  credited  for  many  a  good 
joke  that  he  never  uttered.     There  is  nothing 
like  starting  with  a  character  beforehand,  even 
though  it  may  be  the  outright  invention  of  ig 
norant  prejudice.     It  is  to  this  circumstance  that 
the  New  England  Yankee  is  indebted  for  the 
credit,  among  our  Southern  brethren,  of  invent 
ing  wooden  nutmegs,  oak-leaf  segars,  horses  with 
false   tails,   and   all   other   ingenious  modes  of 
cheating  in  trade.     It   is  to  this  circumstance 
that  the  Irish  are  credited  for  every  ludicrous 
blunder,  to  whomsoever  it  may  properly  belong. 
If  the  Irish  were  disposed  to  retaliate,  it  would 
be  easy  to  find  the  means;  for  it  was  an  English, 
not  an  Irish,  orator,  who  said,  in  the  house  of 
commons,  that  the  proposed  tax  on  leather  would 
be  an   insupportable   burden   to   the   barefooted 
peasantry  of  Ireland.     It  was   an  English  poet 
who  says, 

"  A  painted  vest  Prince  Vortigern  had  on, 
Which  from  a  naked  Pict  his  grandsire  won." 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.      .        79 

It  was  a  French  philosopher,  M.  Jourville,  who, 
being  prepared  to  observe  an  eclipse  of  the  sun, 
at  which  the  king  was  to  be  present,  said  to  M. 
Cassini,  "  Shall  we  not  wait  for  the  king  before 
we  begin  the  eclipse  1 5:  It  was  a  French  gentle 
man  who,  hearing  a  lady  exclaim  against  the  in 
humanity  of  Buffon  in  dissecting  his  own  cousin, 
remarked,  "  But,  my  dear  madam,  the  man  who 
was  dissected  was  dead !  "  It  was  also  a  French 
man  who,  being  asked  by  a  young  man  for  his 
only  daughter  in  marriage,  exclaimed,  "  No,  sir, 
if  I  had  fifty  only  daughters,  I  would  not  give  you 
one  of  them ! "  * 


*  We  can  find  bulls  in  higher  company  than  this.  Pope,  in 
his  translation  of  Homer,  speaking  of  an  eagle  and  her  young, 
says, 

"  Eight  callow  infants  filled  the  mossy  nest, 
Herself  the  ninth." 

Dryden  sings, 

"  A  horrid  silence  first  invades  the  ear." 

Thomson  also  sings, 

"  He  saw  her  charming,  but  he  saw  not  half 
The  charms  her  downcast  modesty  concealed." 

But  the  prize  bull  belongs  to  Milton,  who,  in  his  Paradise  Lost, 
says, 

"  Adam,  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  born 
His  sons  j  the  fairest  of  her  daughters)  Eve." 


80  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

Such  are  a  few  samples  of  genuine  bulls  of 
other  than  Irish  origin;  but  what  story-teller, 
bringing  them  to  market,  and  wishing  to  get  for 
them  the  highest  price,  —  a  hearty  laugh,  — 
would  fail  of  attributing  them  to  the  Irish  ? 

There  is  another  class  of  what  are  called  Irish 
bulls,  which  appear  to  me  to  be  specimens  of  wit 
rather  than  of  blunder.  There  was  once  an  Irish 
sailor  by  the  name  of  Larry,  who  sailed  for  many 
years  on  board  a  little  packet  that  plied  between 
New  Haven  and  New  York.  She  was  com 
manded  by  Captain  B******,  who,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  was  very  profane.  On  a  certain  occasion, 
Larry  was  summoned  before  the  Supreme  Court 
of  Connecticut  as  a  witness.  When  he  was 
called  upon  the  stand,  a  doubt  arose  whether  this 
Irish  Catholic  understood  the  nature  of  an  oath. 
At  length  the  judge  made  the  inquiry  of  Larry, 
who  replied  as  follows :  —  "Is  it  the  nathur  of  an 
oath  ye'd  like  to  know?  If  your  honor  'd  sailed 
with  Captain  Ben  B******  for  six  years,  on 
board  the  Polly  packet,  as  I  have  done,  ye'd  not 
be  after  asking  that  question."  An  Irish  woman 
lately  applied  for  the  place  of  cook,  to  a  lady 
of  Boston.  When  the  terms  were  agreed  upon, 
the  lady  asked  to  whom  she  could  apply  for  the 
woman's  character ;  to  which  she  replied,  "  O, 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  81 

my  chracter  ?  and  you  wish  to  have  my  chracter  ? 
Well,  I'm  thinking  nobody  can  give  it  to  ye  so 
well  as  myself."  These  and  a  multitude  of  other 
instances,  which  are  set  down  as  blunders,  ap 
proaching  to  bulls,  show  any  thing  but  confusion 
of  ideas.  They  spring  from  a  shrewd  wit,  veiled 
beneath  the  mask  of  simplicity. 

But  while  we  would  thus  maintain  that  a  large 
share  of  the  blunders  attributed  to  the  Irish  do 
not  belong  to  them  ;  that  bulls,  and  good  ones  too, 
are  often  committed  by  those  in  whom  we  can 
trace  no  Hibernian  blood ;  and  that  many  of 
those  which  are  actually  traceable  to  Irish  origin 
are  still  only  such  mistakes  as  might  be  expected 
from  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  our  language, — 
still  it  must  be  admitted  that  a  certain  confusion 
of  speech,  or  transposition  of  ideas,  is  common  to 
the  Irish  people.  A  part  of  even  this,  however, 
arises  from  the  inconsiderate  haste  with  which 
they  speak.  An  Irishman  was  once  reading  a 
newspaper,  during  the  twenty  years'  war.  He 
began  a  paragraph  as  follows :  —  "The  French 

have  taken  umbrage ."     He  did  not  stop  to 

finish  the  sentence,  but  exclaimed,  "  The  rascals ! 
it's  the  first  British  port  they  have  got  yet ! J; 
Pat's  loquacity  often  leads  him  into  mistakes. 
It  is  better,  in  his  philosophy,  to  blunder  than  be 


82  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

silent.  Some  people  were  once  speaking  of  the 
Sphinx.  "  Who's  that?  "  said  an  Irishman  pres 
ent.  "It's  a  monster,  man,"  said  the  person 
addressed.  "  A  Munster  man  ?  "  said  the  other ; 
"  I  thought  he  must  be  from  Connaught,  for  I 
think  I  have  heard  of  the  family  there ! "  The 
Irish  generally  speak  as  they  act,  upon  the  first 
impulse.  They  begin  to  express  a  thought  the 
moment  it  strikes  them,  and  often  before  they 
fully  understand  it.  "  Look  ere  you  leap,"  is  a 
proverb  which  they  reverse  in  practice.  "  Think 
twice  and  speak  once,"  they  also  follow  by  the 
rule  of  contrary.  Their  mind  is  a  mirror,  and 
the  ready  tongue  freely  discloses  all  the  fig 
ures,  either  confused  or  distinct,  that  may  pass 
before  it. 

To  our  list  of  shadows  assigned  to  the  portrait 
of  the  Irish  character,  it  is  our  duty  to  notice 
one  more.  The  Irish  are  accused  of  beincr 

o 

faithless  to  their  trusts ;  and  we,  who  have  fre 
quent  occasion  to  deal  with  them,  often  imagine 
that  we  see  displays  of  this  national  characteris 
tic.  It  may,  indeed,  be  true  that  a  long-con 
tinued  state  of  servitude  and  oppression  has 
degraded  some  of  the  Irish.  When,  indeed,  was 
the  slave  high-minded,  heroic,  or  pure  ?  The 
weight.of  the  fetter  may,  at  last,  wither  away  the 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  83 

very  nerve  of  virtue.  The  air  of  the  dungeon 
may  become  stamped  upon  the  features.  The 
perpetual  presence  of  tyranny  must  teach  the 
perpetual  subterfuges  of  deceit.  If  this  process 
has  brought  these  consequences  upon  the  Irish, 
the  same  has  happened  in  Greece.  The  living 
descendants  of  Lycurgus  and  Leonidas  have 
shown  themselves  corrupt,  profligate,  unsteady 
to  their  obligations,  treacherous  in  the  council 
and  the  field.  But  history  furnishes  both  ex 
planation  and  apology.  The  same  may  be  said 
in  extenuation  of  this  frailty  of  the  lower  Irish. 
Faithlessness  is,  however,  an  adventitious  attri 
bute,  and  is  seldom  exercised  but  toward  those 
whom  they  consider  as  adversaries.  Fidelity  to 
each  other  is,  in  fact,  a  conspicuous  trait  in  the 
Irish  character.  In  the  several  rebellions  which 
have  taken  place,  instances  have  occurred  in 
which  individuals  have  gone  to  the  gibbet  rather 
than  betray  their  associates.  » 

Among  the  mountains  of  Wicklow,  Dwyer,  a 
celebrated  rebel  chieftain,  contrived  to  elude  the 
pursuits  of  justice  for  a  period  almost  unexam 
pled.  The  remuneration  offered  by  the  govern 
ment  for  the  discovery  of  this  daring  chief,  who 
so  long  hovered  near  the  capital,  after  his  fol- 
knvers  had  been  routed  and  reduced,  was  very 


84  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

great,  and  presented  a  temptation  to  betray, 
which  in  another  country  would  scarcely  have 
been  resisted ;  but  wherever  he  avowed  himself, 
and  claimed  the  protection  of  hospitality,  his 
person  was  held  sacred;  and,  in  the  midst  of 
rags  and  penury,  a  bribe  which  would  have 
secured  independence  to  the  betrayer,  was  re 
jected  with  scorn. 

In  Waller's  time,  the  secrecy  and  fidelity  of 
the  Irish,  in  all  their  engagements,  were  remark* 
able;  that  poet,  when  the  Sophy  appeared,  said 
of  the  author,  that  "  he  broke  out  like  the  Irish 
rebellion,  threescore  thousand  strong,  when 
nobody  expected  it."  In  no  country  in  the 
world  is  treachery  held  more  in  detestation  than 
in  Ireland  ;  because  in  no  region  can  be  found  a 
higher  spirit  of  frankness  and  generosity.  Upon 
the  door  of  every  cabin  might  be  justly  in 
scribed, 

"  Mistake  me  not  so  much, 
To  think  my  poverty  is  treacherous." 

> 

"  The  lower  orders,"  says  a  traveller  in  Ire 
land,  "  will  occasionally  lie,  and  so  will  the 
lower  orders  of  any  other  country,  unless  they 
are  instructed  better  ;  and  so  should  we  all,  had 
we  not  been  corrected  in.  our  childhood  for 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  85 

it.     It  has   been    asserted   that   the   low 

o 

Irish  are  addicted  to  pilfering ;  I  met  with  no 
instance  of  it  personally.  An  intelligent  friend 
of  mine,  one  of  the  largest  linen  manufacturers 
in  the  north  of  Ireland,  in  whose  house  there 
is  seldom  less  than  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  in  cash,  surrounded  with  two  or  three 
hundred  poor  peasants,  retires  at  night  to  his  bed 
without  bolting  a  door  or  fastening  a  window. 

"  During  Lady  Cathcart's  imprisonment  in  her 
own  house  in  Ireland,  for  twenty  years,  by  the 
orders  of  her  husband,  —  an  affair  which  made  a 
great  noise  some  years  since,  —  her  ladyship 
wished  to  remove  some  remarkably  fine  and  val 
uable  diamonds,  which  she  had  concealed  from 
her  husband,  out  of  the  house ;  but,  having  no 
friend  or  servant  whom  she  could  trust,  she  spoke 
to  a  beggar  woman  who  used  to  come  to  the  house, 
from  the  window  of  the  room  in  which  she  was 
confined.  The  woman  promised  to  take  care  of 
the  jewels,  and  Lady  Cathcart  accordingly  threw 
the  parcel  containing  them  to  her  out  of  the 
window.  The  poor  mendicant  conveyed  them  to 
the  person  to  whom  they  were  addressed ;  and 
when  Lady  Cathcart  recovered  her  liberty,  some 
years  afterwards,  her  diamonds  were  safely  re 
stored  to  her." 
8 


86  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

But  let  us  now  turn  from  these  drawbacks  in 
the  Irish  character,  to  the  consideration  of  more 
grateful  traits.  Who,  for  instance,  has  not  been 
struck  with  the  natural  eloquence  of  these  peo 
ple?  We  need  not  go  to  Grattan,  Curran,  or 
Burke,  for  specimens  of  this  gift  of  genius.  The 
rudest  Irish  laborer  among  us  seems  to  be  en 
dowed  with  it.  If  an  Irishman  really  sets  about 
persuading  you  of  a  thing,  he  seldom  fails  of  his 
object,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  to  prove  that  black 
is  white.  It  is  curious  to  see  how  an  Irishman 
can  embellish  the  most  naked  idea,  and  amplify 
the  commonest  topic.  There  is  a  picture  of  a 
beggar,  belonging  to  the  Athenaeum  of  Boston, 
painted  by  an  artist  of  New  York.  It  is  the 
portrait  of  an  Irishman,  who  presented  himself 
one  day  at  the  artist's  door,  and  begged  for  alms. 
"  Walk  in,"  said  the  painter,  "  and  tell  me  your 
name."  "  My  name,  sir,"  said  the  beggar,  "  is 
Patrick  McGruger,  and  it's  true  what  I  tell  ye," 
"  But,"  said  the  artist,  "  why  don't  you  go  to 
work,  instead  of  begging  about  the  streets  in  this 
fashion  ? '  "  Why  don't  I  go  to  work,  your 
honor  ?  and  is  it  that  ye'd  like  to  know?  When 
ye're  threescore  years  and  ten,  like  myself, 
ye'll  be  more  ready  to  answer  such  a  question, 
than  to  ask  it."  "  Well,  well,  my  good  fellow/' 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  87 

said  the  artist,  "  you  can  at  least  sit  down  and  let 
me  paint  your  portrait."  "  Is  it  my  handsome 
portrait  you're  wanting  1  and  do  you  wish  me  to 
sit  down  there  and  let  you  paint  it  ?  Faith,  that's 
a  thing  I  can  do,  though  I  was  not  brought  up  to 
it.  The  time  has  been,  your  honor,  when  Patrick 
McGruger  could  do  better  than  sit  for  the  por-» 
trait  of  a  beggar.  But  I  must  do  what  I  may ; 
for  these  old  limbs  ask  to  be  fed,  though  they 
refuse  to  work." 

The  author  of  the  "  Lights  and  Shadows  of 
Irish  Life  "  furnishes  us  with  a  fictitious,  but 
characteristic  specimen  of  this  natural  eloquence 
of  the  common  people,  in  a  poor  woman  who 
mourns  at  a  wake  over  the  dead  body  of  her 
patron,  Godman  Lee.  She  was  seated  on  the 
floor,  her  eyes  closed,  her  hands  clasped  around 
her  knees,  while  in  a  low  and  mournful  tone  she 
spoke  as  follows :  — 

"  Kind  and  gentle  were  you,  and  lived  through 
sorrow  and  tears,  frost  and  snow,  with  an  open 
house  and  an  open  heart.  The  sun  of  heaven 
shone  on  you,  and  you  reflected  its  warmth  on 
others.  The  flower  of  the  valley  saw  and  loved 
you;  and  though  she  is  of  a  strange  country, 
you  taught  her  to  love  the  green  and  weeping 
island y  to  dry  the  widow's  tears,  to  feed  the 


8  8  IRELAND  AND  THE  IFJSH. 

orphan,  to  clothe  the  naked.  O,  why  did  yoa 
die,  and  leave  behind  you  all  the  good  things  of 
life?  and  above  all,  the  beautiful  boy  who  will 
be  the  oak  of  the  forest  yet?  O,  the  justice 
and  the  mildness  were  you  of  the  country's  side ! 
and  while  grass  grows,  and  waters  run,  we  will 
mourn  for  Godman  Lee.  The  beggar  walked 
from  his  door  with  a  full  sack  ;  and  he  turned 
wormwood  into  sweetness  with  his  smile.  But 
now  his  wife  is  desolate,  and  his  full  and  plenti 
ful  home  has  no  master  ! ' 

The  wit  of  the  Irish  is  no  less  natural  and 
striking  than  their  eloquence.  That  very  trans 
position  of  ideas  which  sometimes  produces  a 
bull  or  blunder,  not  unfrequently  startles  us  as  if 
with  the  scintillations  of  humor.  "  What  are 
you  doing  there  ?  "'  said  one  Irishman  to  another, 
who  was  digging  away  the  dirt  before  a  cellar 
window.  "  I'm  going  to  open  this  window," 
said  Patrick,  "  to  let  the  dark  out  of  the  cellar." 
A  few  years  ago,  as  several  persons  were  stand 
ing  on  a  wharf  at  Liverpool,  one  of  them  slipped 
into  the  dock.  The  first  individual  to  move  for 
the  relief  of  the  drowning  man,  was  an  Irishman, 
who  plunged  into  the  water,  and  after  a  severe 
struggle  rescued  the  person  from  the  waves. 
When  the  man  had  at  length  recovered  from  his 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IRISH.  89 

ducking,  he  took  some  change  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  selecting  a  sixpence,  handed  it  to  the  Irish 
man  who  had  saved  his  life.  The  latter  looked 
an  instant  at  the  sixpence  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand,  and  then  slowly  measured  with  his  eye  the 
individual  whom  he  had  rescued ;  and  observ 
ing  that  he  was  a  very  thin  and  small  man,  he 
put  the  money  into  his  pocket,  and  turned  on 
his  heel,  saying,  significantly,  "  It's  enough  !  it's 
enough ! ' 

But  the  recollection  of  my  readers  will  readily 
furnish  them  with  abundant  specimens  of  Irish 
wit,  far  less  questionable  than  these.  Wit  is,  in 
fact,  the  whole  stock  in  trade  of  one  half  the 
Irish  nation  ;  and  though  it  often  leaves  them 
destitute  of  a  dinner,  it  seldom  fails  to  make 
even  destitution  and  want  the  occasion  of  its 
merry  sallies. 

It  is  perhaps  this  playfulness  of  fancy,  that 
is  partly  the  source  of  that  cheerfulness  which 
forms  a  remarkable  characteristic  of  the  Irish 
people.  "  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  there 
of,"  is  an  injunction  literally  construed  and 
implicitly  obeyed.  Cheerfulness  seems  indeed 
to  be  so  natural  to  the  Irish,  as  hardly  to  possess 
the  self-denying  ingredients  of  virtue.  Not  even 
poverty,  want,  or  oppression,  can  wholly  shut 
8* 


90  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

out  the  genial  light  of  cheerfulness  from  an 
Irishman's  cabin.  If  it  come  not  in  at  the  door 
or  the  window,  fancy  will  strike  out  the  sparkr 
hope  cherish  it,  wit  blow  it  into  a  blaze.  There 
is  something  even  pathetic  in  the  instances  that 
are  related  of  Irish  wit  and  cheerfulness  in  the 
midst  of  poverty  and  destitution.  A  recent  trav 
eller  in  Ireland  tells  us,  that  on  one  occasion  he 
went  to  an  Irish  cabin,  where  he  found  a  peasant 
and  his  numerous  family  crowded  into  the  only 
room  in  the  building,,  which  was  scarcely  more 
than  twelve  feet  square.  In  one  corner  lay  a  pig  ; 
it  being  the  custom  among  these  poor  people 
to  fatten  one  of  these  animals  every  six  months,, 
for  the  purpose  of  paying  their  rent.  The  trav 
eller  describes  the  hut  as  exhibiting  the  most 
naked  scene  of  relentless  poverty  that  could  be 
imagined.  The  gaunt  form  of  the  peasant,  the 
sunken  cheek  of  the  wife,  the  pallid  counte 
nances  of  the  children,  all  showed  that  the  crav 
ing  wants  of  nature  were  but  half  supplied.  But 
the  pig  presented  a  remarkable  contrast  to  this 
general  aspect  of  want  and  woe.  There  it  lay, 
luxuriously  imbedded  in  aristocratic  straw, 
sleek,  round,  and  pampered.  As  the  stranger 
entered  the  hut,  it  did  not  even  condescend  to 
rise,  but  seemed  to  imitate,  by  a  delicate  and 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH. 

affected  grunt,  the  sentiment  of  the  fat  lady  in 
the  play  —  "  Don't  be  rude,  for  really  my  nerves 
won't  bear  it ! "  The  strang-er  felt  his  heart 

o 

touched  at  this  scene,  for  it  seemed  to  show  that, 
day  by  day,  the  food  that  the  peasant  and  his 
children  needed,  was  doled  out.  to  this  pampered 
animal,  to  provide  for  the  payment  of  the  rent, 
and  thus  insure  a  shelter  for  the  family.  At 
length  he  said  to  the  Irishman,  "  Pray,  why  do 
you  keep  this  creature  in  the  house ;  would  not 
he  do  as  well  out  of  doors  1 "  "  Sure,"  said  the 
peasant,  with  a  smile,  "  your  honor  would  not 
turn  out  the  gintleman  what  pays  the  rint?'1 
Thus  it  is  that  the  Irishman's  cheerfulness  is 
made  to  solace  his  poverty ;  thus  it  is  that  the 
diamond  can  illuminate  the  darkness;  that  the 
playfiil  light  ©f  a  heavenly  virtue  may  be  drawn 
down  to  earth,  even  by  the  iron  of  which  misery 
forges  its  fetters. 

It  is  natural  to  turn  from  Irish  cheerfulness  to 
Irish  hospitality.  This  is  a  virtue  which  is 
largely  exercised  throughout  Ireland,  by  the  rich 
as  well  as  the  poor.  In  England,  a  stranger 
almost  feels  that  he  is  an  outcast.  The  elbows 
of  John  Bull  are  thrust  sharply  out,  seeming  a 
sort  of  chcvaux  de  frise,  to  defend  his  fat  ribs- 
One  who  is  unaccustomed  to  sustain  himself 


92  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

amid  this  kind  of  porcupine  armor,  often  finds 
himself,  while  travelling  in  England,  shoved 
hither  and  thither  in  no  very  pleasant  fashion. 
If,  unluckily,  he  happens  to  have  upon  him  some 
garment  that  bespeaks  a  foreign  country,  he 
seems  to  be  singled  out  as  the  special  object  of 
suspicion  and  aversion.  If,  after  living  this  kind 
of  life  for  a  few  months,  the  traveller  yearns  to 
be  among  a  people  with  whom  he  can  have  some 
sympathy,  let  him  cross  the  Irish  Channel,  and 
go  to  Ireland.  He  will  there  meet  with  ready 
kindness  and  open-handed  hospitality.  The  very 
name  of  stranger,  the  sound  of  which  induces 
an  Englishman  to  double  lock  his  heart  and  his 
door,  is  a  ready  title  to  an  Irishman's  hospitality. 
Nor  is  this  virtue  practised  among  the  rich  alone. 
It  is  even  more  strikingly  displayed  by  the  poor, 
according  to  their  means.  A  poor  Irishman  will 
part  with  his  last  shilling  for  a  friend,  a  neigh 
bor,  or  even  a  stranger,  in  distress.  He  will 
divide  his  last  potato,  giving  the  larger  half  (to 
use  Pat's  own  expression)  to  one  more  needy 
than  himself.  "  A  stranger,"  says  a  certain 
traveller,  "  will  always  find  it  more  easy  to  get 
in,  than  to  get  out  of  the  house  of  an  Irishman. 
The  neighbor  or  the  stranger  finds  every  man's 
door  open ;  and  to  walk  in  without  ceremony  at 


IRELAND     AND    THE     IHISH 


rneal  time,  and  to  partake  of  his  bowl  of  potatoes, 
is  always  sure  to  give  pleasure  to  every  one  of 
the  house,  and  the  pig  is  turned  out  to  make 
room  for  the  gentleman.  If  the  visitor  can  re 
late  a  lively  tale,  or  play  upon  any  instrument,  all 
the  family  is  in  smiles,  and  the  young  will  begin. 
a  merry  dance,  whilst  the  old  will  smoke,  after 
one  another,  out  of  the  same  pipe,  and  enter 
tain  each  other  with  stories.  A  gentleman  of  an 
erratic  turn  was  pointed  out  to  me,  who,  with  his 
flute  in  his  hand,  a  clean  pair  of  stockings  and  a 
shirt  in  his  pocket,  wandered  through  the  coun 
try  every  summer.  Wherever  he  stopped,  the 
face  of  a  stranger  made  him  welcome,  and  the 

O  7 

•sight  of  his  instrument  doubly  so  ;  the  best  seat, 
if  they  had  any,  the  best  potatoes  and  new  milk, 
were  allotted  for  his  dinner;  and  clean  straw, 
and  sometimes  a  pair  of  sheets,  formed  his  bed  ; 
which,  although  frequently  not  a  bed  of  roses. 
was  always  rendered  welcome  by  fatigue,  and 
the  peculiar  bias  of  his  mind." 

Curran,  in  one  of  his  celebrated  speeches, 
thus  beautifully  described  the  native  hospitality 
of  his  country  :  "  The  hospitality  of  other  coun 
tries  is  a  matter  of  necessity  or  convention  ;  in 
savage  nations,  of  the  first  ;  in  polished,  of  the 
latter;  but  the  hospitality  of  an  Irishman  is  net 


9  4  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

the  running  account  of  posted  and  legered  cour 
tesies,  as  in  other  countries;  it  springs,  like  all 
his  other  qualities,  his  faults,  his  virtues,  directly 
from  the  heart.  The  heart  of  an  Irishman  is  by 
nature  bold,  and  he  confides ;  it  is  tender,  and 
he  loves ;  it  is  generous,  and  he  gives ;  it  is  so 
cial,  and  he  is  hospitable." 

"  During  the  march  of  a  regiment,  the  Honor 
able  Captain  P ,  who  had  the  command  of  the 

artillery  baggage,  observing  that  one  of  the  peas 
ants,  whose  car  and  horse  had  been  pressed  for 
the  regiment,  did  not  drive  as  fast  as  he  ought, 
went  up  to  him  and  struck  him.  The  poor  fellow 
shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  observed  there 
was  no  occasion  for  a  blow,  and  immediately 
quickened  the  pace  of  his  animal.  Some  time 
afterwards,  the  artillery  officer,  having  been  out 
shooting  all  the  morning,  entered  a  cabin  for  the 
purpose  of  resting  himself,  where  he  found  the 
very  peasant  whom  he  had  struck,  at  dinner  with 
his  wife  and  family.  The  man,  who  was  very 
powerfully  made,  and  whose  abode  was  solitary, 
might  have  taken  fatal  revenge  upon  the  officer  ; 
instead  of  which,  immediately  recognizing  him, 
he  chose  the  best  potato  out  of  his  bowl,  and, 
presenting  it  to  his  guest,  said,  t  There,  your 
honor,  oblige  me  by  tasting  a  potato^  and  I 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  95 

hope  it  is  a  good  one  ;  but  you  should  not  have 
struck  me  ;  a  blow  is  hard  to  bear.' ' 

Let  us  turn  a  moment  to  the  intellectual  char 
acter  of  the  Irish.  And  first,  as  to  their  imagi 
native  qualities.  These  are  remarkably  dis 
played  in  their  legends,  their  superstitions,  and 
their  popular  poetry.  The  art  of  poetry  appears  to 
have  been  cultivated  from  early  antiquity,  and  it 
is  a  curious  fact  that  rhyme  is  an  Irish  invention. 
As  early  as  the  fifth  century,  the  use  of  rhyme 
was  familiar  among  the  Irish,  as  well  in  their 
vernacular  verses,  as  those  which  they  wrote  in 
Latin.  It  may  be  remarked  here,  that  poetry  in 
its  infant  state  is  seldom  separated  from  music, 
and  that,  in  Ireland,  many  of  the  early  poems 
appear  to  have  been  sung,  and  accompanied  by 
the  harp,  or  cruit.  In  some  very  ancient  verses, 
on  the  death  of  Columba,  preserved  in  the  "  An 
nals  of  the  Four  Masters,"  we  find  allusion  to 
this  :  "  Like  a  song  of  the  cruit,  without  joy, 
is  the  sound  that  follows  our  master  to  the 
tomb  !  "  This  passage  reminds  us  of  Ossian  \ 
and  it  is  curious  to  remark  that  the  very 
poems  which  Macpherson  pretends  were 
founded  upon  fragments  of  ancient  Erse  song, 
gathered  from  the  western  borders  of  Scotland, 
are,  in  fact,  founded  upon  Irish  poems,  well 


9  6  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

ascertained  to  .have  been  composed  in  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries.  It  is  true,  in 
deed,  that  many  of  these  songs  were  current 
among  the  Gaelic  inhabitants  of  the  Hebrides 
and  the  western  Highlands ;  but  the  people  of 
these  portions  of  Scotland  were  but  the  descend 
ants  of  Irish  emigrants.  These  kept  up  a  con 
stant  intercourse  with  Ireland,  and,  adopting  the 
popular  poetry  of  the  latter  country,  made  these 
borrowed  lyrics  familiar  as  their  own.  But 
Ireland  claims  their  paternity;  and  authentic 
history  has  now  restored  them  to  their  birth 
place. 

The  popular  legends  of  the  Irish  eminently 
display  the  imaginative  character  of  the  people. 
In  these,  the  fairies  largely  participate,  seeming 
in  Ireland  to  perform  even  more  extraordinary 
feats  than  in  merry  England.  The  banshee,  a 
pure  Irish  invention,  is  a  nondescript  being, 
supposed  to  be  attached  to  particular  families, 
and  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  their  welfare. 
There  are  few  ancient  houses  in  Ireland  unpro 
vided  with  this  domestic  spirit.  It  •  gives  notice 
of  impending  calamity,  and  a  death  in  the  family 
is  always  foretold  by  the  wailings  of  this  ill- 
omened  attache.  As,  in  England,  the  old- 
fashioned  witch  was  more  common  than  the 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  97 

% 

wizard,  so  the  banshee  is  usually  of  the  witch's 
gender ;  though  sometimes,  for  extraordinary 
purposes,  it  appears  to  be  of  the  other  sex. 
This  formidable  being  seems  to  fill  the  fancies 
of  the  lower  Irish.  Even  those  who  come  to 
this  country  can  hardly  shake  off  its  imaginary 
visitations.  It  is  an  actor  in  many  of  the  popu 
lar  legends  of  Ireland,  and  a  large  part  of  the 
common  incidents  of  life  are  more  or  less  attrib 
uted  to  its  agency.  In  short,  the  Irish  seem  to 
have  a  power  of  imagination  which  connects 
every  object  and  incident  with  the  supernatural. 
Whatever  is  mysterious  is  referred  to  the  ban 
shee;  whatever  is  uncertain  belongs  to  St. 
Patrick,  St.  Briged,  or  some  other  saint.  It  is 
curious  to  observe  that  through  most  of  these 
Irish  legends  and  superstitions,  there  seems 
to  be  a  perception  of  poeticaf  justice,  which 
gives  success  to  virtue,  and  ill  fortune  to  vice. 
It  would  take  me  entirely  beyond  my  proper 
limits  to  go  at  large  into  the  field  of  Irish  litera 
ture —  I  mean  that  which  is  strictly  Irish,  and 
of  a  date  anterior  to  the  period  in  which  the 
learning  of  Ireland  sought  expression  in  the 
English  tongue ;  much  less  can  I  go  into  an 
examination  of  the  numerous  and  rich  contribu 
tions  which  Irish  genius  has  made  to  English 
9 


9  8  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

literature.  A  few  brief  notices  must  be  all  that 
can  be  bestowed  upon  these  fruitful  themes. 

Various  as  are  the  monuments  to  which  Ire 
land  can  point,  as  mute  evidences  of  her  anti 
quity,  she  boasts  a  more  striking  proof  in  the 
living  language  of  her  people  —  in  that  most 
genuine,  if  not  only  existing,  dialect  of  the 
oldest  of  all  European  tongues,  and  which,  by 
whatever  name  it  may  be  called,  was  the  vehicle 
of  the  first  knowledge  that  dawned  upon  Europe. 
In  the  still  written  and  spoken  dialect  of  this 
primeval  language,  Ireland  also  possesses  a  mon 
ument  of  literary  antiquity  which  "  no  cavil  can 
reach,  and  no  doubts  disturb."  That  the  Irish 
were  acquainted  with  letters  before  the  time  of 
St.  Patrick,  appears  to  be  evident,  though  the  art 
of  writing  was  doubtless  in  a  rude  state,  and 
confined  to  the  learned  or  Druidical  class. 
Their  materials  appear  to  have  been  tablets 
formed  of  the  wood  of  the  beach,  upon  which 
they  wrote  with  an  iron  pencil,  or  stylus. 

The  position  of  Ireland  in  respect  to  other 
countries,  at  this  period,  should  be  borne  in 
mind.  Neither  the  arts  nor  the  arms  of  Rome 
ever  reached  this  island.  From  the  earliest 
periods  of  authentic  history  down  to  the  inva 
sion  of  the  Danes,  embracing  a  period  of  nearly 


IRELAND    AND     THE    IRISH.  99 

a  thousand  years,  Ireland  remained  in  a  state  of 
seclusion  ;  her  kings  wrestling  among  them 
selves,  but  her  green  turf  bearing  the  impress 
of  no  foreign  master.  Whatever  light,  therefore, 
might  exist,  was  kindled  from  native  fire.  Yet 
it  is  to  be  remarked  that,  from  the  establishment 
of  the  Christian  religion  by  St.  Patrick,  there 
was  a  gradual  progress  in  learning  until  Ireland 
became  the  most  illuminated  spot  on  the  broad 
map  of  Europe.  Passing  over  the  names  of 
Columbkill,  Killian,  and  other  distinguished 
Irish  scholars  of  the  sixth  and  seventh  centuries, 
we  come  to  Virgil ius,  who  nourished  about  the 
year  750.  He  was  not  only  distinguished  for 
his  learning,  but  for  his  dispute  with  the  Eng 
lish  missionary  Boniface,  over  whom  he  signally 
triumphed.  Some  ignorant  priest,  having  been 
in  the  habit  of  using  bad  Latin  in  administering 
baptism,  Boniface  commanded  Virgilius  to  per 
form  the  ceremony  over  again.  This  he  re 
sisted,  and  Boniface  appealed  to  the  pope,  who 
had  the  good  sense  to  decide  in  favor  of  the 
former.  Boniface,  thus  rebuked,  became  the 
enemy  of  Virgilius,  and  waited  for  an  opportu 
nity  to  seek  revenge.  At  length  the  latter, 
having  some  glimmering  notion  of  the  spherical 
form  of  the  earth,  and  having  intimated  a*  belief 


100  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

in  the  existence  of  antipodes,  was  accused  by 
Boniface  of  heresy,  and  again  brought  before  the 
pope.  From  this  accusation  he  found  means  of 
clearing  himself,  and  was  soon  after  elevated  to 
the  see  of  Salzburg,  in  Germany. 

We  must  pass  over  the  names  of  Clement, 
Albinus,  and  Dungal,  —  all  of  whom  appear  to 
have  been  eminent  men,  and  to  have  obtained 
the  favorable  notice  of  Charlemagne,  —  and  come 
to  Donatus,  bishop  of  Fiesole.  Of  the  writings 
of  this  distinguished  individual  we  give  the  fol 
lowing  extract,  from  a  translation  in  O'Halloran's 
history.  It  is  the  more  pertinent,  as  it  recog 
nizes  the  distinction  which  Ireland  at  this  time 
enjoyed,  for  her  advance  in  learning.* 

"  Far  westward  lies  an  isle  of  ancient  fame, 
By  nature  blessed,  and  Scotia  is  her  name 
Enrolled  in  books  ;  exhaustless  is  her  store 
Of  veiny  silver  and  of  golden  ore  ; 
Her  fruitful  soil  forever  teems  with  wealth, 
With  gems  her  waters,  and  her  air  with  health; 
Her  verdant  fields  with  milk  and  honey  flow; 
Her  woolly  fleeces  vie  with  virgin  snow ; 
Her  waving  furrows  float  with  bearded  corn, 
And  arts  and  arms  her  envied  sons  adorn." 

*  In  explanation  of  one  passage,  it  may  be  necessary  to  say, 
that  Scotia,  or  Scotland,  was  the  designation  of  Ireland,  for 
several  centuries  after  the  arrival  of  the  Scotic  or  Milesian 
colony. 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  101 


/ 


But  by  far  the  most  remarkable  man  sent  forth 
during  these  ages,  was  the  learned  and  subtle 
John  Scotus,  who  flourished  about  the  year  850 
Such  was  the  success  of  his  social  and  intellec 
tual  powers,  that  Charles  the  Bald  of  France 
made  him  the  companion  of  his  most  secluded 
and  familiar  hours.  His  writings  are  the  most 
remarkable  productions  of  the  time,  and  exerted 
a  powerful  influence  upon  the  theology  of  this 
and  the  subsequent  age.  In  addition  to  his  im- 

\ 

mense  European  reputation  as  a  scholar  and 
metaphysician,  we  may  remark  that  he  appears 
to  have  been,  in  his  intellectual  and  social  qual 
ities,  a  perfect  representative  of  the  genuine  Irish 
character,  in  all  its  various  and  versatile  com 
binations.  Possessing  humor  and  imagination, 
with  powers  of  shrewd  and  deep  reasoning,  he 
yet  lavished  both  these  gifts  imprudently,  .exhib 
iting,  on  almost  all  subjects,  every  power  but  that 
of  discretion.  His  life,  in  its  social  relations, 
seems  to  have  been  marked  by  the  same  char 
acteristic  anomalies  ;  for,  while  the  simplicity  of 
his  mind  and  manners,  and  the  festive  play  of  his 
wit,  endeared  him  to  his  private  friends,  the  dar 
ing  heterodoxy  of  his  written  opinions  alarmed 
and  alienated  the  public,  and  made  him  at  least 
as  much  feared  as  admired. 
9* 


102  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 


are  a  few  of  those  stars  which  arose 
from  Ireland,  and  attracted  the1  attention  of 
Europe  during  that  long  period  when  impend 
ing  darkness  vVas  brooding  over  the  rest  of  the 

o  o 

world.  It  is  remarkable  that,  when  all  beside 
was  shadowed  with  ignorance  and  gloom,  Ire 
land  was  the  seat  of  knowledge,  and  the  focal 
point  of  science.  In  the  eighth  century,  its 
reputation  was  so  well  established,  that  it  was 
considered  the  mart  of  learning,  to  which  the 

o  * 

scholars  from  every  part  of  Europe  were  at 
tracted.  It  was  in  those  days  that,  if  a  sage  were 
missing,  it  was  said  of  him,  "  He  has  gone  to 
Ireland  to  perfect  himself  in  scholarship."  On 
this  subject  I  need  but  add,  that  it  was  during 
the  eighth  century,  that  what  has  been  called  the 
scholastic  philosophy  originated,  from  the  emi 
nent  ..divines  which  the  monasteries  of  Ireland 
poured  forth. 

In  confirmation  of  the  views  here  taken,  we 
may  offer  the  testimony  of  Dr.  Leland.  Where 
he  is  speaking  of  the  period  in  which  the  early 
preachers  of  the  gospel  visited  Ireland,  he  says, 

"  Christianity,  as  then  taught,  although  it 
could  not  eradicate,  at  least  restrained,  the  na 
tional  vices.  A  numerous  body  of  ecclesiastics, 
secular  and  regular,  quickly  swarmed  over  the 


IRELAND     AND     THE    IRISH.  103 

whole  country  ;  frequently  became  umpires  be 
tween  contending  chieftains;  and  when  they 
could  not  confine  them  within  the  bounds  of 
reason  and  religion,  at  least  terrified  them  by 
denouncing  vengeance  against  their  excesses. 
An  ignorant  people  listened  to  their  tales  of  pre 
tended  miracles  with  a  religious  horror.  In  the 
midst  of  every  provincial  contest,  every  domestic 
strife,  they  were  sacred  and  inviolate.  They 
soon  learned  to  derive  their  own  emolument 
from  the  public  veneration.  The  infant  church 
was  every  where  amply  endowed,  and  the  prayers 
of  holy  men  repaid  by  large  donations.  Some 
of  the  oldest  remains  of  Irish  literature  inform 
us,  that  the  people  were  taught  to  dedicate  the 
first  born  of  all  cattle  to  the  church,  as  a  matter 
of  indispensable  obligation.  But  if  the  clergy 
thus  acquired  riches,  they  applied  them  to  the 
noblest  purposes.  The  monks,  says  Mr.  O'Con 
nor,  fixed  their  habitations  in  deserts,  which 
they  cultivated  with  their  own  hands,  and  ren 
dered  the  most  delightful  spots  in  the  kingdom. 
These  deserts  became  cities  ;  and  it  is  remarka 
ble  enough,  that  to  the  monks  we  owe  so  useful 
an  institution  in  Ireland,  as  bringing  great  num 
bers  together  into  one  civil  community.  In 
these  cities  the  monks  set  up  schools,  in  which 


104  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

they  educated  the  youth,  not  only  of  the  island, 
but  of  the  neighboring  nations.  The  testimony 
of  Bede  is  unquestionable,  that  about  the  middle 
of  the  seventh  century,  in  the  days  of  the  ven 
erable  prelates  Finian  and  Colman,  many  nobles 
and"  other  orders  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  retired 
from  their  own  country  into  Ireland.  These 
came  either  for  instruction,  or  for  an  opportunity 
of  living  in  monasteries  of  stricter  discipline ; 
the  Scots  (as  he  calls  the  Irish)  maintained  them, 
taught  them,  and  furnished  them  with  books, 
without  fee  or  reward  —  a  most  honorable  tes 
timony,  says  the  elegant  Lord  Lyttleton,  not  only 
to  the  learning,  but  likewise  to  the  hospitality 
and  bounty,  of  that  nation. 

"A  conflux  of  foreigners  to  this  retired  island, 
at  a  time  when  Europe  was  in  ignorance  and 
confusion,  gave  peculiar  lustre  to  this  seat  of 
learning;  nor  is  it  improbable  or  surprising 
that  seven  thousand  students  studied  at  Ar 
magh,  agreeably  to  the  accounts  of  Irish  writers, 
though  the  seminary  of  Armagh  was  but  one  of 
those  numerous  colleges  erected  in  Ireland. 
But  the  labors  of  the  Irish  clergy  were  not 
confined  to  their  own  country.  Their  mission 
aries  were  sent  to  the  continent.  They  con 
verted  heathens  ;  they  confirmed  believers  ;  they 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  105 


erected  convents ;  they  established  schools  of 
learning;  they  taught  the  use  of  letters  to  the 
Saxons  and  Normans ;  they  converted  the  Picts 
by  the  preaching  of  Columbkill,  one  of  their 
renowned  ecclesiastics.  Burgundy,  Germany, 
and  other  countries,  received  their  instructions  ; 
and  Europe  with  gratitude  confessed  the  supe 
rior  knowledge,  the  piety,  the  zeal,  the  purity 
of  the  '  Island  of  Saints.5  Such  are  the  events 
on  which  Irish  writers  dwell  with  an  enthusiastic 
delight.  The  first  Christian  missionaries  seem 
to  have  industriously  avoided  all  unnecessary 
violence  to  the  ancient  manners  of  the  Irish. 
Their  poets  they  favored  and  protected ;  the 
remains  of  the  Druidical  order  were  not  perse 
cuted  ;  and  although  divine  vengeance  was 
thundered  against  the  worshippers  of  the  sun, 
stars,  and  winds,  it  is  evident  that  some  pagan 
superstitions  were  overlooked  with  too  great 
indulgence,  for  they  subsist  at  this  day  in  Ire 
land  :  fires  are  lighted  up  at  particular  times, 
and  the  more  ignorant  Irish  still  drive  their 
cattle  through  those  fires  as  a  means  of  preserv 
ing  them  from  future  accidents." 

Such  is  the  abstract  given  by  Dr.  Lei  and  in 
his  preliminary  discourse  on  the  introduction 
and  establishment  of  Christianity. 


106  IRELAND  AND  1  HE  IRISH.  \ 

But  we  approach  a  period  when  the  sun  of 
Irish  literature  was  destined  to  a  long  eclipse. 
The  hordes  of  northern  robbers,  passing  under 
the  general  name  of  Danes,  now  began  their 
irruptions;  and  for  more  than  two  centuries 
they  continued  to  harass  and  desolate  Ireland. 
They  were  finally  expelled ;  but  the  nation  was 
so  wasted  and  impoverished,  that  Henry  II.  made 
an  easy  conquest  of  a  portion  of  the  island,  and 
commenced  that  dominion  of  the  English  crown 
which  has  ever  since  been  continued.  Under 
this  despotism,  for  nearly  five  hundred  years, 
Ireland  was  the  victim  of  unrelenting  oppres 
sion.  It  was  not  till  after  the  rebellion  of  1688, 
and  the  /desolating  attainders  and  confiscations 
which  followed,  that  a  reprieve  was  given  to 
this  unhappy  country,  by  the  English  govern 
ment.  But  at  last  the  course  of  British  policy 
seemed  to  be  ameliorated,  and  the  country  rose 
superior  to  the  cruel  pressure  of  former  political 
inflictions.  It  had  now  the  bustle  and  activity 
of  a  parliament;  and  its  educated  gentry,  residing 
upon  their  estates,  exerted  their  influence  for  the 
improvement  of  the  people.  The  rapid  advances 
which  were  made  under  these  circumstances  were 
little  short  of  miraculous.  It  was  then  *that  the 
light  of  national  genius,  concentrating  its  long- 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  107 


scattered  rays  to  a  point,  and  shining  steadily 
from  its  proper  focus,  threw  out  those  sparks  of 
moral  lustre 

"  Which  give 
Liofht  to  a  world,  and  make  a  nation  live." 

O  ' 

It  was  then  that  the  powerful  collision  of 
active,  ardent,  and  energetic  minds  produced 
that  brilliant  burst  of  talent,  which  for  nearly 
a  century  flung  over  the  political  darkness  of 
Ireland  a  splendor  to  which  her  struggles  and 
her  misfortunes  served  only  to  give  a  stronger 
relief  and  more  brilliant  effect.  It  was  then 
that,  after  ages  of  mental  depression,  the  Irish 
intellect  broke  out,  when  none  expected,  or 
were  prepared  for  the  splendid  irruption.  It 
was  during  this  remarkable  period,  that  such 
names  as  Steele,  Goldsmith,  Sheridan,  Swift, 
Curran,  Grattan,  and  Burke,  rose  from  Ireland, 
and  swept  like  coruscations  of  light  over  the 
sky.  Nor  were  these  luminaries  followed  by  a 
total  eclipse.  It  is  true  the  union  came  like  a 
cloud  to  chill  the  spirit  of  the  nation ;  to  divest 
it  of  even  the  semblance  of  independence ;  to 
deprive  its  metropolis  of  its  wonted  attraction ; 
and  to  induce  the  wealthy  proprietors  to  seek 
a  residence  in  other  lands.  But,  in  spite  of  this 


108  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

plunder  of  her  rights  and  her  liberty,  Ireland 
has  still  continued  to  add  to  her  list  of  great 
names.  Canning  has  passed  to  his  tomb,  but 
he  will  not  be  forgotten.  Moore  still  lives,  and 
his  fame,  as  the  best  of  lyric  poets,  will  be  im 
mortal.  Wellington,  as  the  victor  of  Waterloo, 
will  need  no  other  monument  than  the  closing 
leaf  of  Napoleon's  story. 

I  have  now  completed  a  feeble  and  imperfect 
sketch   of  Ireland    and   the  Irish  people ;    but 
I  could  wish  that  it  might  not  wholly  pass  with 
out  practical  benefits.      I   have   presented  this 
nation  as  of  great  antiquity,  and  as  linking  itself, 
by  a  remarkable  power  of  self-perpetuation,  with 
those  nations  which  pass  before  us  like  mighty 
shadows  in  the  morning  dream   of  history.     I 
have  presented  them  to  you  as  at  various  periods 
displaying  a  power  of  genius  which  commanded 
the  admiration  of  mankind.     I  have  presented 
them  to  you  as  blemished,  indeed,  with  imper 
fections  in  their    social  character,  but   as  pos 
sessing   indisputable    claims    to    sympathy   and 
respect.      I   would   remind   you   that   we   have 
among  us  thousands    of   individuals,  who   may 
claim    kindred    with   this    interesting   people ; 
and,  however  poor  and  ignorant  some  of  them 
may  be,  — 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  109 

"  Though  Knowledge,  to  their  eyes,  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll,"  — 

still  they  are  of  a  noble  stock,  and  worthy  the 
care  and  culture  of  every  friend  to  the  improve 
ment  of  the  human  race. 

I  know,  indeed,  that  there  are  practical  dif 
ficulties  in  this  matter.     We  are  told  that  the 
Irish   are  Catholics;    and   this   is   esteemed   by 
some  a  fatal  obstacle  to  improvement.     Let  us 
suppose,  for  a  moment,  —  what  indeed  I  do  not 
affirm,  —  that  the  Catholic  religion   is   a   false 
faith  —  what  then  ?     Go  you  to  these  people,  and 
tell  them  that  their  religion  is  a  falsehood  —  will 
they  believe  it  ?     Will  they  not  tell  you  it  is  the 
faith  of  their  fathers,  and  alike  rendered  dear  by 
the  memory  of  the  holy  man  who  introduced  it 
into   their   island,  and   the  bitter  sorrows  they 
have  suffered  for  its  sake  ?     Will  they  not  tell 
you  it  is  the  faith  that  immediately  followed  the 
apostles  —  the  faith  of  the  early  Christians   in 
all  lands  —  the  only  faith  that,  for  centuries  after 
Christ,  was  known  to  Christendom?     Will  they 
not  tell  you  that  to  suppose  this  a  false  belief,  is 
to  suppose  a  non-intercourse  between  Christ  and 
his  followers  for   ages,   and  to  throw  down  and 

o        * 

prostrate    in    the    dust    the    only   ladder   that 
reached  from  earth  to   heaven,  and  by  which, 
10 


110  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

for  more  than  a  thousand  years,  Christian  »faith 
was  accustomed  to  hold  communion  with  God  1 
Will  they  not  also  tell  you  that,  at  this  very 
hour,  two  thirds  of  the  Christian  world  are 
believers  in  the  Catholic  church  1  And  will 
these  followers  of  this  faith  renounce  their 
views  upon  your  simple  declaration  that  it  is 
false?  Remember  that  even  truth  is  unavail 
ing  if  it  do  not  take  hold  of  the  understanding. 
The  longest  lever  has  no  force  if  it  has  no 
fulcrum.  Denunciation,  therefore,  of  the  Cath 
olic  faith,  will  never  benefit  a  Catholic. 

Recollect,  too,  the  position  in  which  we  Amer 
icans  stand  toward  the  Irish.  We  are  of  Eng 
lish  descent,  and  share  in  the  events  of  English 
history.  If  we  have  our  tales  to  tell  of  Bloody 
Mary,  the  Catholics  have  theirs  of  Henry  VIII. , 
Elizabeth,  and  Cromwell,  all  true  Protestants, 
but  as  fell  religious  persecutors  as  ever  disgraced 
a  sceptre.  The  Irish  have  been  taught  by  his 
tory,  tradition,  experience,  to  expect  in  the 
enemies  of  their  religion,  the  enemies  of  their 
peace  and  prosperity.  Protestant,  with  them,  has 
too  often  been  found  synonymous  with  oppres 
sor.  Too  often  Protestantism  has  come  to 
them  in  the  unattractive  guise  of  tyranny,  tithes, 
and  taxation.  These  emigrants  come  to  our 


IRELAND    AND    THE     IRISH.  Ill 

country,  then,  with  a  lynx-eyed  prejudice, 
founded  in  their  own  bitter  experience,  and  that 
of  their  fathers,  and  their  fathers'  fathers.  How 
will  you  deal  with  it  ?  Allow  me  very  briefly  to 
suggest  one  or  two  practical  points. 

Let  us  dismiss  that  narrow-minded  maxim, 
which  teaches  that  the  Irish  are  a  wrong-headed 
people,  who  can  only  be  abused  out  of  their 
errors.  Let  us  recollect  that  St.  Patrick  intro 
duced  Christianity  into  Ireland  in  thirty  years, 
and  that  too  in  the  face  of  paganism,  and  by 
persuasion  only ;  while  the  whole  coercive  power 
of  England  since  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  has 
been  vainly  exerted  to  convert  this  nation  to 
Protestantism.  Remember  that  St.  Patrick,  by 
the  mere  magic  of  kind  persuasion,  did  that  in 
thirty  years  which  the  defied  and  baffled  throne 
of  Britain  has  not  been  able  to  accomplish  by 
force  in  three  hundred  years. 

Let  us  by  no  means  join  in  the  popular  outcry 
against  foreigners  coming  to  our  country,  and 
partaking  of  its  privileges.  They  will  come, 
whether  we  will  or  no ;  and  is  it  wise  to  meet 
them  with  inhospitality,  and  thus  turn  their 
hearts  against  us  1  Let  us  rather  receive  them  as 
friends,  and  give  them  welcome  to  our  country. 
Let  us  rather  say,  "  The  harvest  before  us  is  in- 


112  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

deed  great,  and  the  laborers  are  few :  come,  go 
with  us,  and  we  will  do  thee  good."  Our  hills, 
and  valleys,  and  rivers,  stretch  from  ocean  to 
ocean,  belting  the  entire  continent  of  the  New 

7  O 

World;  and  over  this  rich  and  boundless  do 
main,  Providence  has  poured  the  atmosphere  of 
liberty.  Let  these  poor  sufferers  come  and 
breathe  it  freely.  Let  our  country  be  the  asylum 
of  the  oppressed  of  all  lands.  Let  those  w.ho 
come,  bent  down  with  the  weight  of  European 
tithes  and  taxation,  here  throw  off  the  load,  and 
stand  erect  in  freedom.  Let  those  who  have 
dwelt  in  the  chill  shadows  of  the  Castle  of  Igno 
rance,  erected  by  kings,  and  fortified  by  priest 
craft,  come  here,  and  be  warmed  by  the  free 
sunlight  of  knowledge.  Let  those  whose  limbs 
have  been  cramped  by  chains,  those  whose 
minds  have  been  fettered  by  hereditary  error, 
come  here,  and,  seeing  happiness,  be  permitted 
freely  to  pursue  it. 

Let  us,  at  least,  extend  the  hand  of  encour 
agement  and  sympathy  to  the  Irish.  Their  story 
for  centuries  is  but  a  record  of  sorrows  and  op 
pressions.  They  have  been  made  to  feel,  not 
only  how  cruel,  but  how  universal,  are  the  mis 
eries  which  follow  a  bad  government ;  for  gov 
ernment  is  as  pervading  in  its  influence  as  the 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  113 

air  we  breathe.  In  civilized  society,  we  must  eat 
and  drink,  and  wear,  and  have  shelter,  and  hold 
intercourse  with  our  fellow-men ;  and  govern 
ment  will  come  through  bolted  doors  and  grated 
windows,  and  reach  us  through  these  interests. 
The  tyrant  will  come  in  and  visit  us  at  our  homes, 
dimming  the  very  light  of  our  firesides.  Not 
only  do  we  feel  his  taxes,  and  find  our  industry 
cursed,  but  the  minds  of  our  children  are  perhaps 
injured  —  degraded  or  contaminated  —  by  the 
vices  which  injustice  and  evil  example,  from 
high  stations,  inculcate  upon  society.  And  from 
these  miseries  there  is  no  escape  but  death.  No 
condition  can  shield  a  man  from  mischiefs  so 
injurious  and  so  pervading.  As  well  might  the 
air  become  contagious,  and  the  springs  and 
rivers  be  tainted,  as  bad  government  become 
established  over  a  nation.  Yet  poor  Ireland  has 
been  subject  to  such  a  condition  for  ages ;  and 
even  if  her  children  leave  their  native  soil,  they 
are  obliged  to  carry  with  them  the  bitter  mem 
ory  of  their  country's  wrongs.  A  people  of 
quick  and  ardent  sympathies,  of  a  poetical  and 
romantic  love  of  country,  they  are,  in  exile,  ever 
looking  back  to  the  Emerald  Isle,  with  min 
gled  sorrow  and  sickness  of  heart.  How  heavy 
10* 


I  ]  4  IRELAND  AND  THE  IKISH. 

is  the  burden   which   such   bosoms  must  bear, 

x 

as  they  wander  over  distant  lands,  in  the  bitter 
consciousness  that  their  country  is  the  despond 
ing  victim  of  oppression !  Shall  not  those  who 
come  to  our  shores  afflicted  with  such  sorrows, 
find  in  the  friends  and  sharers  of  freedom,  both 
welcome  and  release  1  And  let  us  beware  of 
adding  to  their  wrongs.  Let  us  remember  that 
there  is  other  tyranny  than  that  of  chains  and  fet 
ters  —  the  invisible  but  cruel  tyranny  of  opinion 
and  prejudice.  Let  us  beware  how  we  exercise 
this  towards  the  Irish ;  for  it  is  wicked  in  itself, 
and  doubly  mischievous  in  its  tendency.  It 
injures  both  its  subject  and  its  object,  and  brings 
no  counterbalancing  good. 

Let  us  be  especially  guarded  against  two 
sources  of  prejudice,  to  which  we  are  peculiarly 
liable.  In  the  first  place,  in  our  personal  ex 
perience,  we  are  familiar  with  the  most  ignorant 
and  unfortunate  of  the  Irish  nation.  We  see, 
in  servile  employments,  those  who  have  been 
exposed  to  all  the  debasing  influences  that  de 
grade  mankind.  Is  it  fair  to  draw  from  these 
a  standard  by  which  to  judge  the  whole  people  ? 
Let  us  rather  ask  ourselves  where  there  is  another 
nation,  who  have  been  so  long  trampled  down 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH,  115 

by  oppression ;  who  have  been  born  in  poverty 
and  nursed  in  adversity ;  who  have  inherited 
little  from  the  past  but  sorrow,  and  can  be 
queath  nothing  to  the  future  but  hope ;  —  where 
is  there  a  people  so  wronged,  that  has  yet  pre 
served  so  many  virtues  ?  How  gallantly,  indeed, 
do  Irish  wit,  and  cheerfulness,  and  hospitality, 
and  patriotism,  ride  on  the  wreck  of  individual 
hopes,  and  sparkle  through  the  very  waves  of 
adversity  ! 

Let  us  beware  of  prejudice  from  another 
source.  We  read  English  books,  papers,  and 
pamphlets.  We  read  them  under  the  inspiring 
influence  of  Britain's  great  name.  Say  what 
we  may  of  that  country,  the  British  empire  is 
a  mighty  power,  and  her  literature  is  even  more 
potent  than  her  armies  and  her  navies.  It  is 
by  this  she  casts  a  spell  over  the  world,  and 
binds  the  nations  in  moral  fetters.  We  see  in 
the  English  people  nearly  the  same  exclusive 
love  of  country  that  burned  in  the  bosom  of  the 
ancient  Roman.  This  spirit  animates  every 
offspring  of  the  English  press.  It  is  this  which 
leads  them  to  vindicate  the  tyranny  of  the  gov 
ernment  in  Ireland,  by  portraying  the  Irish  as 
an  untamable  race,  deaf  to  reason,  and  only  to 


116  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRISH. 

be  ruled  by  the  harsh  inflictions  of  power.  Let 
us,  Americans,  see  that  our  minds  are  not  driven 
from  the  moorings  of  justice,  by  this  sinister 
current  in  which  they  are  placed.  Influenced 
by  such  considerations  as  these,  let  us  by  all 
fair  means  bring  about  a  good  understanding 
between  the  Irish  emigrants  and  society.  Let 
us  deal  gently  with  them,  even  with  their  errors ; 
—  and  thus  we  shall  win  their  confidence ;  thus 
they  may  be  persuaded  to  take  counsel  of  the 
good,  the  wise,  and  the  virtuous,  and  not  throw 
themselves  into  the  arms  of  those  who  flatter 
their  vices  and  minister  to  their  passions,  but  to 
use  and  abuse  them. 

Let  this  reasonable  and  just  policy  mark  our 
conduct  towards  the  grown-up  Irish  among  us ; 
and  in  regard  to  their  children,  let  us  individ-^ 
ually  and  collectively  use  our  best  endeavors  to 
bestow  upon  them  the  benefits  of  education. 
But  let  us  remember  that  even  an  attempt  to 
educate  the  Irish  will  fail,  if  it  be  not  founded 
in  a  recognition  of  the  elements  of  their  national 
character,  quick  perception,  a  keen  sense  of 
justice,  and  ready  resentment  of  wrong.  If 
over  these,  prejudice,  suspicion,  and  pride,  have 
thrown  their  shadows,  let  us  adapt  the  instruction 


IRELAND     AND     THE     IRISH.  117 

we  would  offer  to  the  light  they  can  bear.  In 
this  way,  a  numerous  people  may  be  redeemed 
from  misery  to  happiness,  and  rendered  a  blessing 
instead  of  a  curse  to  our  country.  Let  us  deal 
thus  with  those  Irish  who  have  left  their  native 
land  to  find  a  dwelling  among  us ;  arid  in  regard 
to  the  millions  that  remain  at  home,  in  the 
"green  and  weeping  island,"  let  us  hope  for  the 
speedy  dawn  of  a  brighter  and  better  day.  A 
youthful  queen  now  sways  the  sceptre  of  Britain ; 
and  what  may  not  humanity  hope  from  the  gen 
erosity  of  youth  and  the  heavenly  charity  of 
woman  1 

In  closing  this  faint  and  feeble  but  sincere 
appeal  in  behalf  of  the  Irish  people,  I  cannot 
feel  that  I  urge  a  doubtful  claim,  or  seek  to  en 
force  an  ungracious  suit.  Might  I  not  foot  up  a 
long  account,  and  confidently  ask  its  liquidation 
on  the  general  ground  of  even-handed  justice? 
Who  is  there  that  has  not  read  the  pensive  tale 
of  the  "  Deserted  Village,"  and  felt  his  heart  both 
softened  and  purified  by  the  perusal  ?  Who  is 
there  that  has  not  listened  to  the  entrancing 
melody  of  that  "  Traveller," 

"  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow," 
who  has  painted  pictures   of  life,  beauty,  and 


118  IRELAND  AND  THE  IRIS. 

truth,  on  the  soul,  that  will  live  as  long  as  the 
heart  retains  its  affections,  or  the  imagination 
its  enamel  1  Who  is  there  that  has  not  again, 
again,  and  yet  again,  forgotten  the  cares  and 
vexations  of  life  in  the  story  of  that  simple- 
hearted  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield"  and  his  family,  and 
gathered  from  it  more  touching  and  effective  les 
sons  of  virtue,  than  were  ever  found  in  the  phi 
losophy  of  the  schools  1  Who  is  there  that  will 
not  acknowledge  a  debt  to  the  author  of  these . 
works,  and,  if  the  appeal  were  made,  would  not 
heartily  repay  it  to  the  land  that  gave  him  birth  ? 
Who  can  measure  the  debt  of  gratitude  that  the 
world  owes  to  such  a  man  as  GOLDSMITH  1  for 
it  is  the  influence  of  spirits  like  his,  that  aids  in 
the  redemption  of  mankind  from  barbarism,  that 
civilizes  society,  that  ennobles  the  heart,  gives  to 
love  its  purity,  to  friendship  its  truth,  to  patri 
otism  its  fervor,  to  home  its  comfort,  to  human 
nature  its  dignity,  to  life  its  charm.  If  the 
pleasure  this  single  individual  has  excited,  the 
virtue  he  has  planted  and  cherished,  the  good 
he  has  done  to  his  fellow-man,  were  heaped  up 
in  one  monumental  pile,  the  mighty  pyramid 
would  reach  to  the  skies ;  and  its  fitting  inscrip 
tion  would  be,  To  THE  MEMORY  OF  AN  IRISH 
MAN,  WHOSE  GENIUS  WAS  A  PERSONIFICATION 


IRELAND     AND     THE    IRISH.  119 

OF  TttE  IRISH  CHARACTER,  AND  WHOSE  LIFE 
WAS  A  FIT  EMBLEM  OF  IRELAND'S  FORTUNES. 
HE  LIVED  MINISTERING  TO  THE  HAPPINESS  OF 
OTHERS,  HIMSELF  THE  VICTIM  OF  SORROWS 

THAT     MAY      BE      FELT,      BUT      CANNOT      BE      RE- 

1 

HEARSED ! 


TO    MARION. 


WHY,  maiden,  art  thou  sad?     So  young,  so  fairy 
What  can  thy  gentle  bosom  know  of  sorrow  ? 

For  age  are  meant  the  furrowing  lines  of  care : 
Why,  then,  such  moody  airs  shall  maiden  borrow? 

Pray,  hast  thou  caught  that  magic  mirror's  gleam, 
Of  fond  fifteen,  so  apt  to  light  the  heart, 

Melting  the  seal  of  love's  bewildering  dream  — 
And  at  its  revelations  dost  thou  start? 

So  hath  it  been,  so  must  it  ever  be, 

When  first,  in  seeming  solitude,  we  hear 

The  voice  of  Echo ;   though,  in  ecstasy, 

We  fluttering  follow,  like  charmed  birds,  in  fear 

And  thou  dost  find  an  echo  every  where,  — 
A  voice  that  blends  with  every  tuneful  tone, 

In  every  melody  that  melts  on  air ; 

And  yet  that  voice  —  pray,  is  it  all  unknown? 

There  is  an  image  o'er  the  earth  and  sea, 
Wherever  grace  or  beauty  seem  to  dwell  ~ 

A  rainbow  or  a  man.     Confess  to  me, — 
And  if  it's  Sandy,  maid,  I  will  not  tell. 


BLUE-STOCKINGS. 


BY   J.    A.    JONES. 


THERE  is  no  word  in  the  English  language 
which  is  faster  losing  its  signification  than  that 
of  "  blue-stockings."  Indeed,  it  has  become  so 
thoroughly  changed,  that  the  little  Queen  should 
send  a  peremptory  mandamus  to  the  fellows  of 
Brazen  Nose  or  Oriel,  commanding  them  to 
coin  a  new  word  to  supply  its  place.  Fifteen 
years  ago,  it  was  understood,  in  common  par 
lance,  to  mean  a  woman  between  thirty  and  forty 
years  of  age,  —  usually  nearer  the  former  than 
the  latter,  —  of  questionable  claims  to  strength 
of  mind  or  solidity  of  judgment,  of  a  freckled 
or  sallow  complexion,  with  coarse  hair,  bad  eyes, 
bad  teeth,  bad  gait,  large  feet,  a  pug  nose,  —  an 
inordinate  snuff-taker,  a  termagant  in  disposi 
tion,  a  radical  in  petticoats,  and,  in  matters  of 
faith,  either  a  bigot  or  a  skeptic.  To  suppose 
for  a  moment  that  a  "  blue"  could  be  sensible, 
or  beautiful,  or  sprightly ;  could  dance  with 
grace,  or  sing  with  effect,  or  be  possessed  of 


194  BLUE    STOCKINGS. 

talk  you  Latin  as  the  famous  Colman  the 
younger  proposed  to  sell  butter,  —  by  the  yard, 
—  and  who  was  much  better  read  in  the  Greek 
authors  than  many  who  have  favored  the  world 
with  erudite  translations  of,  and  annotations 
upon,  them. 

He  had  reached  his  twenty-seventh  year,  with 
out  giving  a  single  indication  of  an  intention  to 
follow  the  example  of  his  fathers  in  taking  a  wife 
to  his  bosom.  He  had  been  long  given  over 
as  incorrigible ;  and  even  the  children  of  his 
friends  were  taught  to  lisp,  in  connection  with 
his  name,  the  ominous  note,  "  old  bachelor." 
Women  of  sense,  it  was  seen,  he  avoided,  and 
he  was  supposed  to  possess  too  much  of  that 
redeeming  quality,  to  marry  a  fool.  So  the  sen 
timental  wrote  him  down  one  who  had  de 
termined  to  tread  the  "  weary  path  of  life " 
alone.  Fond  lovers  arid  the  happily  married 
pitied  his  forlorn  state,  and  deprecated  his 
crazed  resolve ;  while  those  who  were  poor  in 
the  treasures  of  connubial  felicity,  applauded 
him  to  the  skies  for  his  wisdom,  and  pointed 
him  out  as  a  second  Daniel  come  to  judgment. 

We  were  in  London  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
month  of  August,  which,  as  all  of  you  that  have 
lived  in  England  know,  is  a  period  of  great 


BLUE-STOCKINGS.  195 

dulness.  Major  Roche  then  came  to  me,  and, 
complaining  of  ennui,  proposed  that  we  should 
take  a  trip  to  Paris,  and  see  what  they  were 
doing  in  the  Boulevard  Italien,  and  saying  in 
the  Chaussee  d'Autin.  It  was  the  very  thing  I 
had  been  conning  over  in  my  mind  for  some 
three  weeks  before ;  so  I  gave  a  ready  acquies 
cence,  and  we  set  out  the  next  day  for  Dover, 
there  .to  take  shipping  for  the  port  once  de 
nominated  by  British  monarchs  "  our  city  of 
Calais."  Nothing  occurred  worthy  of  note  till 
we  had  been  received  on  board  the  boat  which 
yearly  conveys  so  many  idle  fellows  across  the 
Channel,  to  lose  their  money  at  ecarte,  in  the 
salons  of  Paris,  or  otherwise  waste  it  in  dissi 
pations  of  which  that  capital  is  so  prolific. 

I  was  walking  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  rumi 
nating  on  matters  and  things, — the  beauty  of 
the  English  coast,  the  smoothness  of  the  sea,  — 
when  my  friend  the  major  came  up  to  me  with 
anxiety  depicted  on  his  fine  countenance,  a  slight 
blush  crossing  his  handsome  cheek,  and  his 
manner  very  solemn  and  thoughtful.  Taking 
me  by  my  arm,  and  drawing  a  very  deep  sigh, 
he  ejaculated,  "  My  time  has,  come!"  Not 
knowing  the  motive  or  feeling  which  prompted 
the  exclamation,  I  confess  I  was  much  startled 


196 


STOCKINGS. 


by  it.  I  am  a  firm  believer  in  signs,  omens,  and 
portents,  vulgarly  called  forerunners;  and  it 
struck  me  that  he  had  received  one  of  those 
"  solemn  hints  "  which  announce  our  speedy 
disappearance  from  the  theatre  of  earthly  trou 
bles  and  vanities.  I  was  at  the  point  of  repeat 
ing  Wolsey's  pathetic  lament  on  the  brevity  and 
uncertainty  of  human  life  and  honors,  when  I 
was  relieved  from  my  fears  —  that  is,  the  som 
bre  class  of  them  —  by  his  second  exclamation, 
"  She  is  an  angel  !  J: 

"  Who  is  an  angel  1  "  I  demanded. 

"  The  lovely  little  creature  who  is  sitting  at 
the  door  of  the  ladies'  cabin,  tete-a-tete  with 
a  gentleman  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  And 
thus  it  is,  '  the  course  of  trtve  love  never  did 
run  smooth.'  But,  Chester,  you  shall  see  this 
beautiful  girl,  and  judge  if  I  have  not  reason 
to  be  thus  smitten." 

On  descending  to  the  cabin,  the  first  glimpse  I 
caught  of  the  object  of  Roche's  sudden  passion, 
was  certainly  such  as  led  me  to  think  highly  of 
his  taste.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw  a  more 
beautiful  woman.  Indeed,  were  I  required  to 
point  out  the  most  beautiful  face  I  have  ever 
seen,  I  should  name  hers.  And  then  there  dwelt 
such  an  unspeakable  charm  in  her  countenance, 


BLUE-STOCKINGS.  197 

and  so  much  grace  in  her  manner,  so  much  — 
but  she  was  incomparable.  Happily  for  the  ma 
jor,  the  gentleman  who  attended  her  proved  to 
be  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,  a  married  man, 
with  daughters  nearly  as  old  as  his  lovely  ward. 
At  my  request,  he  introduced  "  Miss  Lemmen." 
Behold,  then,  my  friend  on  the  summit  of  human 
felicity.  He  was  soon  able  to  engross  the 
whole  conversation  of  the  lovely  girl,  his  tender 
interest  increasing1  every  moment,  while  the 
glance  of  her  soft  eye  evinced  decided  approba 
tion  of  his  conversation  and  manners.  Before 
they  had  been  half  an  hour  in  each  other's  com 
pany,  I  set  them  down  "paired  and  matched." 
I  never  saw  two  persons  become  more  deeply 
enamored  at  a  first  interview.  Happily,  the  sub 
jects  first  introduced  were  those  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  hear  discussed  in  fashionable  cir 
cles  —  dress,  dancing,  music,  drawing,  recent 
marriages  and  engagements  in  the  beau  mondc, 
parties  formed  for  the  watering-places,  —  all  top 
ics  of  much  and  engrossing  interest  in  the  higher 
circles.  So  far  all  was  well ;  but  as  those  who 
begin  to  feel  la  belle  passion  are  always  more 
or  less  poetical  and  sentimental,  and,  Ijke  the 
dying  Falstaff,  "  babble  of  green  fields,"  my 
enamored  friend  would  needs  be  asking  the 


198 


BLUE  STOCKINGS. 


young  lady  if  she  was  fond  of  retirement  and 
country  life. 

"  Above  all  things !  O,  I  do  so  delight  in  it," 
she  answered,  her  beautiful  eyes  glistening  with 
rapture,  "  that  I  think  I  could  bear  banish 
ment  for  life  to  very  many  of  the  quiet  and  se 
cluded  spots  one  finds  in  England.  (Here  the 
major  began  to  rub  his  hands  in  ecstasy.)  I 
never  liked  the  noise  and  bustle  of  town  life, 
but  always  preferred  a  walk  through  a  shady 
grove,  or  by  the  banks  of  a  murmuring  brook, 
to  all  the  gayety  of  the  parks  and  promenades. 
I  could  better  enjoy  such  a  stroll  than  a  "  show- 
off"  at  the  levee  of  the  Queen ;  and  for  balls 
and  assemblies,  and  mazurkas  and  galopades,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  can  they  compare  with  ripe 
strawberries  plucked  by  one's  own  hand,  and 
eaten  with  new  cream  in  one's  own  summer- 
house  ?  No :  I  should  prefer  seclusion,  and  a 
narrower  homage,  being  of  opinion  with  Ovid, 

'  Vive  sine  invidia  mollesque  inglorios  annos, 
Exige  et  amicitias  tibi  junge  pares.' ' 

| 
I  x 

Gentle  reader,  be  so  good  as  to  look  at  the  pic 
ture  in  the  Athenaeum,  painted>  for  this  point  of 
my  story.  See  how  faithfully  and  accurately  the 
artist  has  depicted  the  surprise,  horror,  agony,  of 


BLUE-STOCKINGS.  199 

the  worthy  soldier,  at  finding  his  newly-enshrined 
idol  a  blue-stocking.  One  hand  is  uplifted  in 
astonishment ;  the  other  shades  his  eyes  from  the 
bright  spectre  of  youth  and  beauty.  He  is  en 
deavoring  to  leave  the  chair  to  which  the  soft 
vision  has  chained  him.  In  the  countenance  of 
the  lady,  there  is  some  surprise,  and  not  a  little 
chagrin,  visible ;  and  the  under  lip,  the  least  in 
the  world,  pouting,  shows  pique ;  but  the  pre 
dominating  expression  is  that  of  subdued  laugh 
ter  at  his  look  and  gestures. 


In  spite  of  the  unhappy  quotation  from  Ovid, 
Major  Roche  married  the  charming  Harriett 
Lemmen,  immediately  on  his  return  from  Paris. 
He  has  quite  forgotten  his  horror  of  learned 
ladies  in  the  acquaintance  he  has  made  with 
one  of  the  greatest  sinners  of  the  class.  When 
any  thing  is  said  in  his  presence  against  blues,  or 
when  doubts  are  expressed  of  their  making  pleas 
ant  companions,  my  friend,  bestowing  a  kiss  on 
the  little  white  hand  or  smooth  forehead  of  the 
sweet  creature  at  his  side,  exclaims,  Vide  et 
crede. 


AMBITION. 


VIRTUE  alone  can  bless :  'tis  Heaven's  law  — 
God's  mighty  will  —  man's  universal  doom: 

All  this  we  know  —  a  trite,  familiar  saw, 

Rung  in  the  ear  from  childhood  to  the  tomb. 

We  know  that  life  is  short;  we  know  its  end  — 
For  all  around  doth  whisper  of  the  grave ; 

The  ocean  drinks  the  river ;  forests  bend, 
Giving  to  winter  what  the  summer  gave. 

And  still  Ambition  to  some  giddy  height 

Leads  us  away,  and  tempts  us,  and  we  kneel; 

Yet,  ere  we  grasp  these  kingdoms  of  delight, 
Loud  in  the  ear  Death  rings  his  hollow  peal. 


. 


THE    LOVER    OF    NATURE. 

THERE  are  three  kin'ds  of  affectation,  to 
which  a  large  portion  of  mankind  are  addicted. 
Shakspeare  said  —  without  one  particle  of  truth, 
however  —  that  "  he  who  hath  not  music  in  his 
soul,  is  fit  for  treason,  stratagem,  and  spoils ! " 
The  interpretation  of  this  is,  that  he  who  has 
not  an  ear  for  music  is  a  scoundrel;  —  to  avoid 
which  appellation,  every  body  professes  to  love 
music ;  though,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  many 
very  excellent  people  hate  it. 

Every  body  pretends  to  be  fond  of  pictures, 

—  every   body  except  my  friend   Parson  Flint. 
He  'is  an  honest  man,  —  a  perfect  transparency, 

—  and  he  confesses  that  he  could   never  raise 
a  picture ;  by  which  he  means  that  to  his  eye 
the  canvass  even  of  Raphael    is  but  a  flat  sur 
face,  without  distance  or  perspective,  and  pos 
sessing   not   the   slightest    resemblance    to    the 
world  of  realities.     Such  honesty  of  confession 
is  rare,  —  and  perhaps    such  inaptitude  of  per 
ception,  also.     But  how  many  persons  are  there, 
who   know   nothing   and   feel    nothing   of   the 


, 


234  THE  LOVE  OF  NATURE. 

beauty  of  paintings,  who  yet  talk  of  them  in 
terras  of  rapture,  bestow  upon  them  all  the 
admiring  epithets  in  our  language,  and  pretend 
to  point  out  their  peculiar  beauties  with  the 
air  of  that  compound  of  science  and  sensibility 
—  an  amateur ! 

The  third  species  of  prevalent  affectation  is 
that  of  the  love  of  nature  —  a  love  common 
upon  the  lips,  though  seldom  in  the  heart.  Not 
but  that  every  eye  may  see  and  appreciate  the 
difference  between  a  fair  sky  and  a  foul  one, 
between  a  winter  landscape  and  one  that  is 
redolent  of  spring.  There  are  few  who  do 
not  perceive  beauty  in  flowers,  in  rushing 
waters,  in  waving  woods,  in  far-off  mountains 
wreathed  with  azure,  in  meadows  decked  with 
blossoms  as  a  gaudy  queen  with  gems.  There 
are  few,  indeed,  who  can,  resist  the  appeal  of 
these  to  the  heart ;  but  if  there  are  any  such, 
they  are  generally  ostentatious  pretenders  to 
the  love  of  nature.  I  know  of  none  whose 
souls  are  more  truly  dead  to  the  voice  of 
God  speaking  through  his  works,  than  those 
upon  whose  lips  you  constantly  hear  the 
words  "  beautiful,"  "  exquisite,  "  "  delight 
ful,"  "charming,"  "superb,"  "romantic," 
"  delicious,"  &c.  &.c. 


I 

THE     LOVER     OF     NATURE.  235 

I  cannot  illustrate  what  I  mean  better  than 
by  giving  a  sketch  from  life.  You  must  know, 
fair  reader,  that-  I  am  a  country  gentleman, 
and  a  bachelor;  and,  living  near  the  metropo 
lis,  I  am  often  visited  by  my  city  acquaintances, 
especially  about  the  time  of  strawberries  and 
cream.  It  was  but  yesterday  that  I  was  favored 
with  a  call  from  Miss  Eleanor  Flower,  whom 
every  body  in  town — who  is  any  body,  —  knows 
to  be  a  lady  of  the  first  rank  and  fashion.  She 
has  had  all  the  advantages  which  wealth  can 
give,  —  such  as  instruction,  travel,  society ;  to 
which  may  be  added  the  experience  of  thirty 
years  confessed,  besides  some  half  dozen  more 
concealed  behind  curls  and  lace,  and  the  necro 
mantic  arts  of  the  toilet. 

Now,  Miss  Eleanor  Flower  is  a  lively  lady; 
and  yesterday  was  a  fair,  bright  day  ;  and  June, 
you  know,  is  the  zenith  of  our  year.  So  we 
met  joyously ;  and  we  walked  forth  into  the 
garden,  and  then  nothing  would  do  but  a  ram 
ble  through  the  woods.  On  we  went,  Miss 
Flower,  my  simple  niece,  Alice  Dunn,  and 
myself.  Every  thing  was  indeed  beautiful ; 
and,  for  once,  my  city  visjtor  seemed  to 
feel.  She  had,  it  is  true,  the  usual  sign  of 
affectation  and  stupidity  —  the  constant  use  of 


236  THE  LOVE  OF  NATURE. 

such  words  as  "  fine,"  "  exquisite,"  "  beautiful," 
"  charming,"  — -  those  unmeaning  generalities 
by  which  those  who  are  conscious  of  some 
hypocritical  pretence,  endeavor  to  hide  their 
hypocrisy.  But  still  these  terms  were  uttered 
with  such  warmth  by  my  fair  friend,  that  for 
a  time  I  was  deceived.  I  began  to  feel  that 

O 

she  had  a  soul ;  and  her  hazel  eyes  really 
looked  sentimental  —  a  fact  which  goes  far  to 
prove  a  theory  I  have  long  maintained,  that 
there  is  a  power  about  women  at  certain  times, 
which  resembles,  in  no  small  degree,  the  fatal 
fascination  imputed  to  the  rattlesnake  —  a  power 
which  binds  its  victim  in  a  spell  of  bewildering 
delight,  yet  only  to  draw  him  on  to  destruc 
tion. 

Our  little  party  wandered  on  through  the 
woods  for  more  than  an  hour ;  and  all  was 
delightful.  Miss  Flower  fairly  exhausted  the 
vocabulary  of  pleasure;  and  nothing  seemed 
amiss,  except  now  and  then  she  was  a  little 
horrified  at  a  toad  —  or  she  screamed  slightly  at 
a  bumble-bee  that  buzzed  saucily  in  her  ear, 
because  he  was  disturbed  in  his  breakfast  of 
nectar  amid  the  wild  honeysuckles  —  or  per 
chance  she  made  the  rather  ungraceful  and 
impatient  sign  of  the  mosquito  upon  her  per- 


THE     LOVER     OF     NATURE.  237 

son  —  a  sign  which  can  only  be  forgiven  by  those 
who  look  upon  women  as  human  creatures,  and 
not  as  angels. 

At  last  we  were  fairly  tired,  and  all  three 
sat  down  upon  the  bank  of  a  rivulet  to  rest. 
I  was  seated  apart ;  and,  as  the  two  ladies  were 
arranging  some  little  matters  of  dress,  which 
had  been  disturbed  by  the  thorns  and  brambles 
of  our  walk,  it  was  proper  for  me  to  appear 
absorbed  in  a  brown  study.  I  therefore  looked 
into  the  brook,  and  was  soon  considered  as  out 
of  earshot  by  my  companions.  My  feelings 
were,  however,  so  much  interested  in  Miss 
Flower,  that  I  distinctly  heard  the  following 
conversation : 

x 

Miss  F.  Really,  the  country  is  a  horrid  bore. 
It  may  be  well  enough  to  talk  about ;  but  what 
is  it,  after  all  ?  Bugs  and  bumble-bees,  and 

7  O  * 

toads  and  mosquitoes!  These  are  the  whole 
of  it. 

Alice.  But  you  seem  to  forget  the  flowers 
you  praised  so  much  a  short  time  since. 

Miss  F.  Flowers  are  very  well;  for  they 
furnish  designs  for  the  milliners.  But  art  is 
superior  to  nature ;  for  artificial  flowers  do  not 
fade  and  fall  to  pieces ;  besides,  they  have  a 
pleasing  effect  upon  a  bonnet  or  a  flounce ; 


238  THE  LOVE  OF  NATURE. 

while  natural  flowers,  even  according  to  the 
poet,  are  often 

"  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  their  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 

No,  no;  flowers  are  nothing  in  themselves; 
but  they  are  turned  to  good  account  by  art. 
Thus  a  flower  suggested  that  beautiful  dress 
of  the  time  of  Henri  IV.,  in  which  a  lady  was 
attired  so  as  to  have  the  form  of  a  blossom  — 
the  high,  pointed  ruff  representing  the  calyx; 
the  head,  dressed  long  and  smooth,  was  an 
image  of  the  pistil. 

Alice.  But  what  do  you  think  of  the  woods  ? 
You  spoke  of  them  in  terms  of  rapture,  a  short 
time  ago. 

Miss  F.  O,  that's  a  mere  matter  of  fashion. 
You  must  talk  in  that  kind  of  way.  But  what 
can  be  more  detestable  than  to  toil  along  in  a 
rough  path,  spoiling  your  dress,  growing  red 
in  the  face  and  neck,  and  tormented  with  mos 
quitoes?  It's  enough  to  ruin  the  temper  of  a 
saint.  No,  no ;  one  must  go  to  the  country 
once  in  a  while,  and  take  a  walk  in  the  woods, 
just  to  speak  of  it.  But  that's  the  whole. 
It  is  sometimes  necessary  to  be  sentimental ; 
for  there  are  some  persons  who  are  taken  with 


THE     LOVER    Of     NATURE. 


that  sort  of  thing,  and  there  is  no  way  of 
introducing  sentimentality  so  easily  as  to  speak 
of  the  country.  Very  young  men  and  very 
old  bachelors  are  caught  with  thin  webs  ; 
but  they  must  be  spread  in  the  country.  You 
must  talk  of  love  in  a  cottage  ;  of  shady  walks  ; 
of  retired  woods  ;  of  winding  dells  ;  of  grottoes 
cooled  by  waters  breathing  forth  soft  music  ; 
of  twittering  birds,  billing,  cooing,  and  building 
nests;  of  morning,  with  its  refreshing  dews 
shining  like  diamonds  on  every  leaf;  of  evening, 
made  for  lovers,  and  the  moon,  that  favors  all, 
yet  reveals  nothing. 

Alice.  Really,  this  is  quite  a  new  view  of 
things.  Pray,  were  you  not  in  earnest  when  you 
were  speaking  to  my  uncle  so  warmly  about  the 
"  romantic  eloquence  of  twilight/*  —  as  you 
called  it  ? 

Miss  F.  In  earnest?  Why,  Alice,  are  you 
yet  a  child  ?  Do  you  really  suppose  I  could  be 
in  earnest?  It  is  very  well,  no  doubt,  to  talk 
about  evening,  and  twilight,  and  the  starry 
canopy  of  heaven.  But  while  you  are  walk 
ing  along,  discoursing  of  these  things,  it  is 
ten  to  one  that  a  horn-bug  smites  you  full  in 
the  face. 

Alice.     A  horn-bug? 


240  THE   LOVE    OF   NATUKE. 

Miss  F.  Yes,  a  horn-bug  —  saucy  thing  !  — •*• 
and  I'd  rather  meet  a  man  in  the  dark  than  a 
horn-bug ! 

This  remark  drew  an  exclamation  from  Alice; 
and  I  could  not  forbear  turning  round  and  look 
ing  the  two  ladies  in  the  face.  This  put  a  sud 
den  stop  to  the  dialogue  ;  and  now,  being  fully 
rested,  we  set  out  and  returned  home;.  Miss 
Eleanor  Flower  soon  departed  ;  and  I  forgot  her 
in  reading  the  following  description  of  a  gen 
uine  child  and  lover  of  nature  by  old  Davenant : 

"  To  Astragon  Heaven  for  succession  gave 
One  onely  pledge,  and  Birtha  was  her  name  ; 

Whose  mother  slept  where  flow'rs  grew  on  her  grave, 
And  she  succeeded  her  in  face  and  fame. 

"  Her  beauty  princes  durst  not  hope  to  use, 
Unless,  like  poets,  for  their  morning  theam; 

And  her  minde's  beauty  they  would  rather  choose, 
Which  did  the  light  in  beautie's  lanthorn  seem. 

"She  ne'r  saw  courts,  yet  courts  could  have  undone. 

With  untaught  looks,  and  an  unpractised  heart, 
Her  nets,  the  most  prepar'd  could  never  shun, 

For  Nature  spread  them  in  the  scorn  of  Art. 

"She  never  had  in  busie  cities  bin; 

Ne'r  warm'd  with  hopes,  nor  ere  allay 'd  with  fears; 
Not  seeing  punishment,  could  guess  no  sin; 

And  sin  not  seeing,  ne'r  had  use  of  tears. 


THE     LOVER     OF     NATURE, 


"But  here  her  father's  precepts  gave  her  skill, 
Which  with  incessant  business  filled  the  houres  : 

In  Spring  she  gather'd  blossoms  for  the  still  ; 
In  Autumn,  berries;  and  in  Summer,  flowers. 


"Beneath  a  mirtle  covert  she  does  spend 

In  maid's  weak  wishes  her  whole  stock  of  thought 
Fond  maids,  who  love  with  mmae  s  fine  stuff  would 

mend, 

Which  nature  purposelv  of  body's  wrought." 
16 


I'VE  NAILED  MY  COLORS  TO 
THE  MAST. 


BY   J.    A.    JONES. 


I  VE  nailed  my  colors  to  the  mast  : 
The  anchor  of  my  hopes  is  cast  : 
Come  life  or  death,  come  weal  or  woe, 
I  shall  not  change  my  faith  below 

I  shall  not  change.     She  that  I  love 
Is  soft  and  gentle  as  the  dove; 
The  breeze  no  glossier  ringlet  stirs, 
Earth  hath  no  rubier  lip,  than  hers. 

I  cannot  change.     So  oft  mine  eye 
Has  seen  her  light  foot  tripping  by, 
That,  by  my  fears  —  oft  urged  in  vain  — 
I  cannot  rend  away  my  chain. 

I've  nailed  my  colors  to  the  mast; 
The  anchor  of  my  hope  is  cast  : 
Come  life  or  death,  come  weal  or  woe, 
I  shall  not  change  my  faith  below. 


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AT 

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